


Dragonslayer

by TurtleChan (LlyaAegi)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Don't Judge Me, More tags later, Original Character(s), Skyrim - Freeform, what even is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LlyaAegi/pseuds/TurtleChan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amora Whitehart wakes up on her way to an execution and by miracle of the Gods, she escapes with her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is just me writing out my adventures. I am of course taking liberties with the story, the dialogue, the characters, and anything else I feel will improve the flow of the story. Please ignore the typos, they happen. Don't hate me for this... ^^;

My head is pounding, the blood pushing steadily under my eyelids as the light tries to filter through.  The taste of ash and copper on my tongue has my stomach rolling a little, forcing me out of my fatigue.  I blink rapidly to get my bearings.  A wooden cart, shackles, and three other men.  

“Hey there,” one of the men smiles sadly at me.  He has straw hair and weary eyes. I guess he is around twenty-five summers by the lines on his face.  Like me, his hands are bound. “You are finally awake.”

“Wha...” my voice breaks.  I swallow thickly and try again.  “What happened?”

“Not sure.”  He shrugs, but the effort looks strained.  “I am Ralof. This is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, and some horse thief.”

Ulfric is bound and gagged and I am grateful to not be in the same state at least.  He has an air of power about him, and I am curious as to why he is the only one of us gagged here, but my attention is drawn away. 

The other man, the horse thief, scoffs loudly and turns to me, his dark eyes furrowed in irritation and fear. “My name is Lokir.  And by all rights and purposes, I shouldn’t be here! I am no traitor to the empire like these two.  I don’t think you are either.”

I try to remember my own name, but everything is hazy in my memory.  The men seem to understand and don't push for a response.  Ulfric is watching me closely, his eyes narrowed.

Ralof shakes his head.  “Doesn’t matter.  We are headed for a last stop in Helgen.  A swift blow and we will be in Sovngarde.”  An execution? How did I wind up on the way to execution? “You were found trying to cross the border,” he explains kindly, noticing my confusion.  “I assume you got mixed up in the skirmish, and, well, you don’t exactly have the look of an Imperial soldier.  The guards must have assumed you were one of us.”

The cart clatters along the road and my chains jostle painfully against my wrists.  Townspeople stare as we arrive, whispers from behind their hands at the caravan of ragged prisoners. I can just see it as we pulled up.  The execution block.  

“Steady lass,” Ralof nods to me.  My panic must have been apparent but his voice is calm and resigned.  “Bravery and honor lead to Sovngarde.”

Lokir, however, is voicing my inner panic.  “I cannot be here, I shouldn’t be here.  I won’t let them kill me like this.  I refuse to die a prisoner!”

Leaping up from his seat, he sprints off in a vain attempt to escape.  I can see it happen in my mind before it does in reality.  A shouted order, and an arrow is loosed from the guard’s bow, striking the man in the back.  His body falls to the ground hard and I can hear the echo from where I sit.

“Fool,” Ralof mutters.

“Anyone else feel like doing something stupid?” the captain of the guard calls to the rest of us.  “No? Good.  Off the cart when we call your name.”

Ulfric is called first and he nods once to Ralof, and gives me a long glance.  His eyes rake over my appearance, appraising and curious, and I turn away from the piercing eyes.  Ralof is next and he winks as he passed, some sort of secret bond formed.  How a man could be kind in the face of impending doom is beyond me, but it softens my features and I relax enough to ease the pain in my shoulders.

“You there!” the guard calls to me.  “Off the cart.  I don’t see you on my list. Who are you?”

“Amora,” I gather my courage enough to answer.  Vague details about myself come back to me.  Not enough to piece together how I got here, but enough to know my name.

“Another Nord,” the guard sighs.  “When will you people give up?  Captain, what do we do with her?”

The female captain looks me up and down.  It is not the same appraising glance that Ulfric had given me, but more of a sneering glare.  “She will go in line with the rest.  Hurry up, Hadvar.  We don’t have all day.”

“Yes Captain.”

Guard Hadvar takes my arm and leads me to the rest, a stiff line stinking of fear and anger.  A priestess is praying over our souls and to my left, a man in heavy armor, probably very high in rank, is standing right up in Ulfric’s face.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, traitor to the lands of Skyrim.  You are charged with the murder of the High King Torygg, using the Voice to usurp the throne and plunge the land into chaos and war.  You and your kind will be executed, put down to restore the peace of the Empire.  And I am very much looking forward to this.”  The man sneers and Ulfric lunges forward in a silent threat, but the man only laughs.

Something, some echo, some cry sounds from far away.  It is a sound I am certain I have never heard before, my flesh prickling at the noise.  Ralof and I exchange glances, but he shakes his head, also confused.

“Get on with it,” the man in charge commands.

“Yes sir, General Tullius.” Hadvar looks around once again and signals the first prisoner forward.  The man yells some nonsense to the priestess, demanding that they just get it over with.

I want to look away, but I can’t.  The heavy axe is lifted into the air and the executioner simply lets it drop.  The blade, curved and sharp, falls through the air letting gravity do the work. My knees feel weak and I can vaguely hear myself panting.  Honestly, it is a clean cut with very little blood, the man’s head falling neatly in the box provided and his body slumping to the side. But there is still blood, and the man is still dead right before my eyes.

“You next,” the general points in my direction and my mind shuts down.  Whatever I try, the message from my head to my feet isn’t working and I can’t manage to step forward.

A cold sweat breaks out along my skin. That same eerie cry screeches through the sky and we all look up. 

“There it is again,” Hadvar sounds as nervous as the rest of us feel.  “What is it?”

“I said, next prisoner!” General Tullius commands attention with a snarl and Hadvar walks up to grab my arm.  He is surprisingly gentle and I can only assume it is because he is distracted, still searching the skies for the ominous sound.

I trip over my own feet, trembling violently.  Someone kicks the back of my knees and I fall forward.  I can feel a boot pressing against my shoulder blades, forcing me still.  I can hear the heavy breathing of my executioner as he lifts the blade.  Just as I am about to close my eyes and accept my fate, a shadow crosses the sky.  

It can’t be.

The beast is huge, larger than any I had ever seen.  Scales like bone and wings outstretched, claws dig into the tower in front of me sending bricks crashing to the ground.  The earth bucks beneath me, rocking against the force as the creature lets out a vicious cry.

“Dragon!” one of the guards screams and everything erupts into chaos. Guards and prisoners begin to sprint around in terror.  A second shout from the dragon sends me sprawling sideways, safe from the executioners blade, but looking up directly at the beast.  There is no denying it, this is a real dragon.

“On your feet,” an urgent voice tugs at me and I spin my head to see Ralof reaching out to me. “The Gods may not give us another chance, we have to move now.”

Staggering to my feet, I shake my head to clear the haze and reorient myself.  “A dragon...” I breathe.

“There is a tower this way! Come on!” Ralof takes my hands and pulls me along, seeing something that I don’t.  Debris smashes against buildings and the wood framing begins to burn.  Fire rains from the sky as the beast circles around us overhead, cursing the town and the people in it.

Once in the safety of the tower, Ralof slams the door shut and we lean against it, panting from both fear and exertion. There are men inside, battered and bruised, blood seeping through ragged clothing with nothing to help stop the flow.  I slide down to the floor and put my head between my knees to stop the dizziness the adrenaline has given me.

Ralof places a hand on my shoulder in comfort and I nod silently to him, telling him I am fine before he steps away.  “Jarl Ulfric.”

“Ralof.”  It is the first time I heard the man’s voice, deep and low.  “I am glad to see you alive my friend.”

I glance up to watch their exchange, close and brotherly.  Ulfric’s hands rest on Ralof’s shoulders and they share a quiet moment. Thankfully, they pay me no mind.

“Are the legends true?” Ralof asks breathlessly.  I can see I am not the only one listening in at this point.

“Legends don’t burn down villages.”  He looks over the room with a strong front, but there is something else there.  I catch it as his gaze wanders over me in slight surprise.  He looks weary, and is pushing away some unknown regret. But he seems amazed that I am still alive, mirroring my own astonishment.

“But is it Alduin, the World-Eater?  Like the prophecies said?” Ralof pushes.

Ulfric’s gaze is still on me.  “It would seem so.”

A scream erupts from the other side of the door and I scrabble away.  There is no more time for talk as the tower shakes violently, the stones crying out against each other in strain.  

“Quickly, up the tower!” Ulfric commands and I scramble to follow his direction. Ralof leads the way up the steps, one strong hand holding on tight to my bindings so I do not stumble.  Ulfric is behind me, a hand on my back keeping me steady and moving forward.  

There is a man up ahead who shouts down to us.  Stones bar our way and will have to be moved before we can climb further.  Ulfric moves up to my side to answer him, but he is cut off by a deafening roar.  The wall directly in front of us blasts apart in white fire.  Ulfric pulls me backwards against him and as Ralof still has my bonds in his hand, he is swung wide.  His footing slips and his body is thrown to the side and off the stairs.

The strain in my arms is too much and I flatten my body against the ground and try to rearrange my hands to grab ahold of him.  The chains cut against my wrist but I refuse to let go. I can hear Ulfric beside me shouting Ralof’s name through the ringing in my ears.  Finally, some of the pressure is released from my aching limbs as Ulfric helps to heave Ralof back onto the broken stairs.

I fall back and clutch at my wrists and arms, trying to make sure they are still attached to my body, but the pain makes it obvious I am still in one piece.

“Thank you,” Ralof breathes heavily next to me.  “That was far too close.”

“We need to keep moving,” Ulfric squeezes his shoulder and helps us both to stand. “The Gods seem to favor us this day.  Let us not push our luck.”

Glancing out of the hole, the drop is not too far to the destroyed building below.  If we can get there, we might be able to make a break for it.  From my perch I can see a few brave soldiers attempting to engage the dragon, and it is enough to keep the beast’s attention occupied for a moment.

“We can get out this way,” I point and they both nod.  

“Jump through,” Ralof says, wincing as the wall scrapes against his lightly charred skin.  “We will follow as best we can and meet you on the other side.”

“An honor, young lass,” Ulfric’s mouth tilts in a soft smile.  “Gods watch over you.”

I nod and take a deep breath.  The ledge is shaky as I step out and launch myself into the other building.  My legs ache, I can’t manage to land right and it is jarring.  I carefully move through the seared remains of the building, slipping on broken fragments of furniture.  The heavy shadow of the dragon soars over me and I can hear the pained screams of the people.  The acrid smell of ash and death fills my nose, but I must keep going.

Just outside the door, I see Hadvar and hang back.  I am not interested in being recaptured amidst a dragon attack.  Hadvar is preoccupied at the moment though.  A young boy is kneeling by a man, injured and vulnerable.  They are out in the open.

“Haming! Get over here!” Hadvar screams at him, but the boy only cries out in fear.  With a curse, Hadvar runs up and grabs the child and hauls the frantic body away just in time.  The same white-hot dragon breath lights the injured body on fire and the boy’s cries turn to agony.  I watch as Hadvar hands the boy off to another man and he catches sight of me.

It only takes a single look for Hadvar to not only notice me, but assess the situation.  “Prisoner,” he says as he runs underneath the awning to my side and I shrink away from him.  From the corner of my eye, I catch Ralof around the corner and see his anger.  Hadvar grabs ahold of my chains in an aggressive way and jerks me forward.  “Come with me if you want to live.”

I do want to live, just not as a prisoner.  It seems, though, that I have no choice at the moment.  He leads us around the buildings, careful to stay out of sight of the dragon who seems intent on burning anything that moves.  We slide close to the walls, taking cover as best we can and I focus on keeping myself steady.  There is nothing kind about the way this man jerks me around.  My body is exhausted and my mind slowing my reflexes down, but I continue on.  

We turn a corner and the Imperial soldiers, led by General Tullius, are attacking the dragon head on.  They are losing badly, more and more soldiers falling prey to the snapping jaws and gold fire of the dragon.

“Retreat! Back to the Keep!” the general orders and soldiers begin falling away.  

Hadvar yanks me sideways and drags me along to the safety and imprisonment of the Keep.  And there, across the courtyard, I see my way out.  Ralof draws a sword and faces Hadvar.  His bonds are gone and he has tugged on armor from somewhere.

“Hadvar, let her go!” Ralof demands.  “You have lost this one.”

“You should have left when you had the chance, traitor!” Hadvar shouts back, dropping my chain and pulling out a small dagger along with his sword.

The roar of the dragon is too close and I feel the vibrations in my chest.   Both men look up to the sky and the ebony dragon is too close, circling lower to strike.  I take the chance to run for it, heading straight for Ralof.  He catches me as I stumble towards him, taking my hand and only shooting a cautionary glance behind us.  Hadvar shouts curses at our backs, but the dragon descends and I can no longer hear his promises that the Stormcloaks are traitors and I will surely die.

Ralof struggles to shut the door of the Keep and we look around.  There are a few bodies lying around brokenly and I pointedly look away.  I had experienced death before, I am no stranger to it by far.  But this is so different.  Their bodies lay at painful angles, telling of violent deaths.

“Here,” Ralof says gently, trying not to startle me.  “Let’s get those chains off.”

I stare at his hands, rough and calloused as he pulls a lock pick set from his pocket and begins to fiddle with the cuffs.  It takes him a bit, but the moment they break free, I rub the raw skin.

“I know it is troubling, but Gunjar’s armor would be beneficial.  It isn’t like he will be needing it anymore.”  Ralof’s tone is surprisingly steady as he asks me to strip his dead friend and take his gear.  

It fits awkwardly, too bulky and loose for my smaller frame and Ralof manages a dry chuckle as I try to keep the helmet from sliding off. “Don’t make fun,” I pout, which only makes him laugh a little clearer.

“We will find you something better once we get out.  You can manage till then, yes?” I nod and look around the room.  There are a couple of potions, a few gold pieces, a bit of food, and a small war axe.  Stuffing what I can into a bag, I sling it over my shoulder and Ralof grabs me.

Shuffling sounds come from behind one of the locked gates and Ralof motions to be quiet.  I grip my little axe tighter as the door opens and a couple Imperial soldiers comes through.  The second they spot us, their swords are drawn.  

I would have stayed hidden, off to the side and let Ralof handle it.  But I can’t.  One of the soldiers runs straight at me, sword drawn and murder in her eyes.  I drop the bag and swing out with the axe, catching her arm.

“You little bitch!” she swears at me and lunges again.  Ducking around her arm, I sidestep and manage to get my axe up under her armored torso.  I can feel the blade sliding in, slicing through flesh and muscle far too easily.  With a groan, she falls away and I stare.

“Amora,” Ralof calls to me, but I can't step away.  

I had killed this woman, taken her life away.  It was the first ever for me, and the nausea rolls through my body. Tripping towards the wall, I crouch down and heave.  I feel so sick, the guilty pain in my chest worse than the physical exhaustion in my bones.  Thinking about it rationally, it would probably not be my last fight, and I know that it was done in self-defense.  But that doesn’t help any.

“Amora, lass,” Ralof crouches behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder.  “Was that the first?”

I nod and try to get my body back under control.  I am certain he will say something about how I shouldn’t feel bad about it, how it wasn't really my fault.  But thankfully, he does not offer any hollow words.  

“I have the key out of here,” he holds up the little key with a soft smile.  “Let’s go.”

I can see him wince as he stands and I reach out to touch his arm where blood trickles down towards his palm.  “You are hurt,” I point out lamely.

“Nothing much.”

“Wait,” I pick up the bag I had gathered and pull out a small bottle.  It is only about a third full, but it is more than enough to do the trick.  

Ralof is hesitant to take it.  “Why would you give me one of your health potions?  You might need it.”

I shrug.  “You need it more now.  And why wouldn’t I?  We are friends, are we not?  Hurry up.  I want to get out of this hellish place.”

He downs the potion in one shot and I watch as the wound begins pulling together.  At least he will not get infected. Tossing the bottle away, he takes the bag and slides it on his shoulder and we head out.

There are a few more soldiers in our path, but now, Ralof pushes me to the side and takes care of it himself.  The weariness is setting in, my body running low on energy and will to continue.  After making our way to the lowest parts of the Keep, we find a safe corner and I force Ralof to eat with me, threatening to starve myself if he doesn't share the meal.

“You are one of Ulfric’s soldiers,” I venture a conversation to keep myself from wallowing in guilt.

“ _Jarl_ Ulfric,” he corrects sternly, “is a good man and a great leader.  He only wants to free the people of Skyrim from the Empire’s tyranny.  I am proud to stand at his side.”

“He seems...intense.”  I tear at my portion of the bread and cheese with vigor.

Ralof chuckles, “That he is.  And what about you?  What is a young Nord lass wandering about the land all alone to get herself captured for?”

I pause.  “I honestly don’t remember much.  I can almost recall my mother’s face telling me to run for the border.  I can hear my father’s voice telling me that I must protect myself, no matter the cost, that my destiny is greater than the life we had.  And then I woke up in the back of the cart.”

He nods, contemplating my words.  “It seems that the Gods favor you at least.  To survive capture, execution, and a dragon attack, Talos is watching over you.  I can’t tell you what to do from here, but I will escort you to Riverwood, where my sister lives.  You can rest there and decide your course then.”

We finish the meal in peace and I feel better now.  My hands don’t shake nearly as bad and there is some strength in my legs.  We cannot stay here, more soldiers could come.  The best option is to go further on.  The bottom of the Keep opens up into a cave. The wind blusters around much colder now, but the icy water of the stream that trickles through allows me to wash up a little.  I smell less like death and more like the musky hide armor I struggle to keep straight.

The cave is filled with remains, spatters of dark blood on the ground and walls.  I ask Ralof about it, but he only mutters something about cursed vampires and I think he is joking.  Then again, after seeing a dragon, it is possible that there really are vampires out there.  And if there are vampires out there, who knows what else might be lurking in the shadows.

Turns out that the only thing lurking in this particular cave was a bear and we snuck by silently.  The moment we reach the outside, relief fills my body.  I was so tense throughout the walk, that the sudden release makes me collapse.  Ralof is by my side in an instant, his face filled with concern.  Instead, I throw my arms around him and hug him tightly.  We are out, we are free now.

He lets me settle down in the snow, the crisp white calming my aching muscles and clearing my head.  The path is easy to find, and the walk down gets warmer as we go.  It is hard to tell how much time has passed.  It feels like early morning, and it wouldn’t surprise me to know that we had been winding around back there for a day at least.

“We can rest in town. It is safe there,” he keeps assuring me and despite my few stumbles, I inform him that I can make it.

“What is that?” I point to a raised platform off the path.  There are three large stones, each carved out intricately.

Ralof steps up with me as I inspect them.  “These are Guardian Stones.  There are numerous ones scattered throughout Skyrim and each comes with a blessing from the Gods.  You should choose one.  This is the Thief Stone, the Mage Stone, and the Warrior Stone.  Place your hand on the one of your choice.”

I consider them for a moment.  I don’t think the Thief Stone is for me.  Perhaps the Mage Stone?  I could use guidance in magic, Mother told me I had an aptitude for it.  But no.  After the experience I just went through, I would need the guidance and blessing of the Gods in battle.  I know that this is not the end of my fight, especially if dragons have returned.  The Stone is surprisingly warm to the touch and I feel a sense of peace wash over me.

When I feel assured that I have done what I need to, I turn to face Ralof, who has a weird smile on his face.  “Warrior.  Those stars will guide you to honor and glory.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes.  “I don’t know about honor and glory.  But I do know that I can use all the help I can get to survive.  If the Gods will bless me with strength in this area, I think I can manage to live long enough to fulfill whatever destiny they have for me.”

To my surprise, he chuckles.  “You are pretty smart for such a young lass.  Riverwood is just up ahead.”

The walk then doesn't seem so long and Ralof passes the time by telling me weird stories about the people he grew up with.  Turns out he and Hadvar were friends as children, but the war separated them.  I can see the peaks of a few houses up ahead, but we stop by the stream to wash up a bit and Ralof catches a few salmon to bring to his family.

A few people stare as we walk into town and Ralof leads us directly towards a lumber mill.  A woman is working hard there and doesn't glance up as we approach. 

“How can I help you?” she asks, her voice stern.  I stay quiet and Ralof waits for her to stop and turn around.  “Ralof?”

“Hello sister,” he smiles tiredly.

She wipes her hands off on her apron and approaches, looking hard at her brother, and once over to me.  “What sort of trouble are you in now?”

 


	2. Getting out of Riverwood

“A dragon? Ralof you can't be serious,” Gerdur shakes her head and sits down on a stump.  She looks older than her brother, even more worn.  Her husband, Hod, comes to join us, leaving his workstation and bringing us a bit of food and drink.

“It explains the smoke.  We could see it from here,” Hod says, and then chuckles.  “And here I thought you were coming to introduce us to your new wife.”

Gerdur is not amused by her husband’s attempt at humor and I am slow to understand his meaning.  When I look up, my face is red I am sure, and Ralof shakes his head.

“As honorable as she would be,” Ralof chooses his words carefully with a hidden smile, “I am not in a position to settle down yet.  I am here only to rest and lay low until I can return to Jarl Ulfric’s side.”

“He is alive then,” Gerdur sounds so relieved. 

“Last I saw, yes.  This lass found us a way out of the flames and he headed straight for Windhelm.”

A young boy runs up shouting “Uncle Ralof!” He throws himself into the man’s arms and begins pelting him with questions.  With Ralof distracted, Gerdur turns to me.

“I never caught your name,” she says, looking me over.

“Amora Whitehart,” I say stiffly. “I rode to Helgen with your brother.  He saved my life.”

“Nonsense,” Ralof interjects.  “Amora saved my life more than once.  This lass has the Gods eyes on her no doubt.  Ulfric knew so too.”

Her brow raises.  “You look so young...” I know she wants to ask more, but I am too tired to answer anything not openly asked.  “Come with me, you can wash up and rest in our home safely for now.”

Ralof stays behind to talk with Hod and I follow after Gerdur quietly.  The lumber mill isn’t far from the couple’s home and my feet drag over the dirt, stumbling slightly.  She directs me to leave my weapons and armor near the door and I am hesitant to obey, but this is her home and I am still a guest.  Besides, even if I were to be attacked, I am too tired to defend much.

The bathwater is cold, water still boiling in the fireplace to combat the chill, but it is refreshing.

“I am sorry we don't have hot water for you,” Gerdur makes small talk, bustling around the small house.  “I do have some clothes that will fit though and you can rest in Frodnar’s bed for now.”

“I am sorry to put you out like this,” I murmur.  A gentle hand comes up to brush my hair and when I look up at her, she has a sad smile on. A mother’s smile.

“It is no trouble at all. When are you and Ralof planning on leaving?”

The lye soap scratches across my skin as I scrape the dirt off.  “I don’t think we are traveling together after this.  I believe he wants to meet up with Ulfric, and I have no plans to join a war just yet.”

She nods and pours the hot water in, making me shiver at the drastic change.  “My brother...has a good heart. And I don’t think he is wrong to stand with Jarl Ulfric and the Stormcloaks.  I just worry about him.  I don’t mean to pry, but where will you go?”

I shrug.  “I don’t know.  I have no money, no possessions.” It wasn’t a cry for pity, simply a statement.  “I am sure I could find work in a tavern or on a farm somewhere.”

“Whiterun isn’t far.  The city is nice, and there are a few inns and taverns that are always in need of help.  And it would be a great service to our town if you could tell the Jarl about what happened at Helgen.  I am sure word will reach him soon, but to have an eyewitness account would be very helpful to him.”

“Do you think he would even listen to me?”  

Gerdur finds a stool and sits behind me, pulling my braid loose and running her hands through my hair.  “The Jarl is fair.  I am sure he would hear you.  But rest easy for now.  You need your strength back.”

We sit in companionable silence as she washes my hair and I try not to fall asleep.  She makes sure I am scrubbed clean, and I feel her fingers tracing the strange marks on my left shoulder blade.  They were tattooed when I turned twelve summers, but I still have no idea what my father was thinking with the strange inscriptions.  He only said that one day I would understand and left it at that.  

I am almost dreaming when the door opens and Gerdur shrieks at Ralof to remain outside while I bathe and change.  It startles me enough to realize that I am as clean as I can get now and it would be good to dry off and sleep in a bed.  The clothes Gerdur give me fit nicely and they smell fresh. 

Staring in the mirror as she brushes and braids my hair, I realize I must seem so childish to her.  I am only sixteen summers, my hair still glowing white blonde.  Now with the dirt gone from my face, it is easier to see how soft and pale my skin is and my golden eyes look brighter.  I have never thought myself so before, but I have an ethereal beauty I inherited from my mother and her mother before her.

“Rest now,” Gerdur pushes me beneath the furs on a smaller bed.  “I will wake you when dinner is ready.”  It is easy to fall asleep to her soft humming.

*

_“Run Amora,” my fathers eyes plead with me.  “You must survive! You must live and pass on the legacy.”_

_There is screaming all around me, fires licking the edge of my vision.  “What legacy?  Father, I don’t understand!”_

_“You are ... and your legacy must live on! You must find... the time is almost at hand!  Listen to me Amora!” His hands hold tight to my shoulders, fingers bruising the muscle.  “You must live no matter what!  You are our last hope! You are Do...”_

I shoot awake, scrambling at the air as though I can hold on to the last tendrils of the dream.  What was my father saying?  I couldn’t understand.  I am what? What did he say to me? What was clouded by the blood and terror that forced me to flee my home and my family?

“You are awake,” Ralof pulls up a chair to the side of the bed and lifts a finger to brush the few sweaty strands of hair away from my eyes.  It is dark and the little light comes from the fireplace.  His expression is worried, and his fingers soft as they trace my features. “You were having night terrors.”

“I am sorry,” I duck my head down.  His touch makes me shiver a little, I am so unused to being close to anyone.  “I know they are just dreams.  I am alright.”

Ralof nods quietly to himself for a moment.  I worry he will press me for explanations, but thankfully he does not. “I wanted to speak to you about your plans from here.  Gerdur mentioned you would be going to Whiterun?”

“I figure it is a good place to start.  I can probably find work there, and I will speak to the Jarl about Helgen.”

His eyes search my face and I see the concern there.

I smile a little.  “I won’t mention you or Ulfric. I don't think anyone needs to know that part."

“ _Jarl_ Ulfric,” he corrects on instinct.  “That would be best.  The Jarl can send reinforcements to Riverwood and Gerdur and her family will be safe.  You will do that?”

I nod.  “It is the least I can do.  Your family has been so kind to me.”

“We take care of our own,” he grins and flicks my forehead.  He likes the closeness I guess.  I suppose he is just an affectionate person much like his older sister.

I rub my forehead with a pout.  “What about you? Where will you go?”

Ralof leans back in the chair and rubs the back of his neck.  “Probably head back to Windhelm and see where Jarl Ulfric wants me.  But you will be alright on your own?”

I snort in amusement at his concern.  “I will be fine.”

“Of course you will, what am I saying.  You survived Helgen.”  He smirks and leans the chair on its back two legs to reach for something.  “It isn’t much, but there are some clothes in here, some food and supplies you might need.  There is also some other useless things that you can take to the Trader and sell off for some extra coin to hold you over until you find work.”

I want to interrupt him.  “I can’t take-”

“Yes you can,” he barrels right over my protests. “You can and you will.  For my peace of mind.  I will be leaving in the morning, so I need to know you have everything you need.”

“Ralof,” my voice softens.  He has been far too kind to me, done more than any other person would.  “Thank you.”  He stays by my side as I fall back to sleep, the sound of his voice humming something quietly rocks me away gently.

I am not awake when he leaves in the morning, but house is more empty than usual.  Gerdur allows me to stay with her for another couple days, resting and healing and I am given a few chores to do in exchange.  More of my memories surface, tender thoughts of the family I no longer have.  

It is dinner on my fourth day when I turn to the couple.  “I think I am ready to move on,” I whisper, partly hoping they don’t hear me.

“About time,” Frodnar sneers, earning a sharp whack to the back of his head.  I can understand though, as I have taken over his bed the past few nights.

“You are sure?” Gerdur asks.

Hod shakes his head.  “Woman, leave the girl alone.  If she says she is ready, then she is ready.”

“Thank you both, so much.  Your kindness has been...” I can’t put it into words.

Gerdur reaches over and takes my hand.  “You can always come back here.  And you had better send word when you are settled.  Hod makes deliveries to Whiterun for the Mill, so we will visit when we can.”

“Of course,” I agree readily, and the subject is dropped for the night.  I don’t sleep much that night, and tuck Frodnar into his own bed when I leave just before dawn. 

Before I set off, I stop by the Riverwood Trader to sell off some of the extra things I won’t need.  It doesn’t surprise me to see Lucan Valerius arguing with his sister, Camilla.  They aren’t the closest on the good days, but this is something else entirely.

“Everything okay?” I ask Lucan as Camilla stomps up the stairs.

Lucan sighs dramatically and shakes his head.  “We had a bit of a break in last night.  Something of high value was taken and she wants to just run off and go find it by herself.”

“What was it?” I ask in curiosity.

“A large claw, gold and worth more than anything else we have in here.  This is going to set us back quite a bit because I had a buyer and everything.  But I can’t let Camilla run off after some bandits.  She isn’t good with a blade.”

I consider for a moment as we barter for the things in my bag.  It would be beneficial to make friends here, contacts I can fall back on in case things in Whiterun don’t work out well.  “I could probably get it back for you,” I volunteer.

Lucas’s eye get wider and he looks surprised.  “You would do that?”

“Sure,” I shrug.  “I was heading out today anyway.  Got any clues as to which way these thieves might have gone?”

“The only known hideout around here is Bleak Falls Barrow. Camilla can point you in the right direction and then _come straight back here_.” I realize that she had come back downstairs as he spoke, and he looked at her sternly over my shoulder.

She glares at him fiercely and waves me outside.  “You don't have to do this,” she offers and her voice is kinder now.  

“I don’t mind,” I smile at her. She is pretty and looks more relaxed now that she is out of the shop.  “Anything I should be aware of?”

“The barrow might have trolls or traps,” she shrugs nonchalantly.  “But more than likely, is will just be bandits and skeevers.”

Camilla gives me detailed directions and wishes she could go with me, but as much as I would appreciate the companionship, I don’t think her brother would be pleased.  Suddenly, I miss Ralof, but I think this sort of adventure would be too boring for a hardened soldier like him.

The path winds up the mountain and I watch my footsteps.  Higher up, it starts to snow, the wind biting at my nose and cheeks a little, but I pull on the warm furs that Gerdur had given me.  

“You took a wrong turn, friend.”

My eyes shoot up and see a hulking figure looming towards me.  “I doubt I did.”  In fact, judging by the crumbling tower we are standing under, I am exactly where I should be.

“Ooh, she has a mouth on her.”  The man steps closer and pulls his sword out to seem threatening.  Honestly, after Helgen, he doesn't seem that frightening to me.  “Care to play, sweetheart?”

“No thank you.”  He reaches out for me and I step to the side.  I can tell it angers him and he lunges at me with a snarl.  “I am serious,” I frown and pull out my axe.  “I don’t want any trouble, but I will not hesitate to defend myself.”

“You think you can just get away?” the man shouts.

As he rushes forward, arms poised to bring his sword down against my neck, I duck under his arm and thrust my axe up into his torso.  Warmth spills over my hand and his body grows heavy against me.  I had come to terms with the woman I killed in Helgen.  This was no different.  Perhaps a different faction, but this was a man who intended to harm me.  I will not die standing idly by wasting the life I was granted.  I will fight for my life.

A handful of other bandits stream out from the tower and stare at the scene.  The snow stains red under the man’s body and I crouch down to rub snow over my hands and weapon, cleaning the sticky off.

“I am only passing through,” I say with as much courage as I can muster.  “Let me pass and this will not happen to anyone else.”  Most of them step back inside, but two of them come running forward.  I don’t have to think much, they are clumsy in their attempts to take my head off.  One stumbles on his own feet and is sent sprawling.  The woman, however, almost catches my face with the point of her sword.

My hand shoots out and catches her wrist, twisting enough to get her to drop the weapon.  She turns under my arm and strikes out at my knee and I am thrown back a little.  The axe in my hands tears at the flesh on her neck and she staggers away.

I don’t want to fight them anymore, but I am wary of any more suddenly charging at me.

“Here!” one of the people inside shouts at me.  A coin purse is thrown at my feet.  “It is all we have.  Take it and leave us!”

It is heavy in my hand as I weigh it.  There is no need to count it, even if there are no coins inside, it doesn't matter.  The snow crunches under my boots as I back up and away from the tower.  No one follows me and I continue on my way.  This is a dangerous land, with men willing to take hold of a young girl armed and all.  I need to watch myself more carefully from here on out.

The barrow is hard to miss.  It juts up into the sky, the entrance at the top of the stairs.  However, it is unkept.  Obviously the nearby towns do not keep their ancient dead in the way I was taught by my family, with the stone arches left crumbling and stray brambles crawling up through the steps.  

The door creaks loudly as I enter the main hall.  Large pieces have fallen away, taking the beauty that was once a great honor for the dead and burying it.  The smell of fungus and campfire fills the air, and beneath that, the stench of rot.  I crouch low and slowly move forward.  There are two bandits discussing in low voices over a crackled fire.  This is the place. I hear them mention the claw and I overhear that an elf has run off further into the barrow with it.  

Rather than get up close, I pull the bow from my back and let off a couple shots.  They never even see me coming and they are face down in their own blood.  I choose not to think about it and take what few supplies they have, unsure how long I will be down there.  The torches are lit along the walls and someone has been through here not long before.  Vines crisscross the walls and floor and I am careful not to trip over them.  

I approach a strange room.  The walls are high and carved intricately and curious pedestals line one wall.  A lever is obviously placed in the center of the room, but there is a dead bandit lying over it.  Upon further inspection, I see small darts sticking out of his flesh, the sign of a trap gone wrong.  But how does this work? 

Ah, I see now, the pedestals turn.  There must be a pattern here somewhere.  The clues are staring me in the face, I know they are.  Above the gate barring the way, there are similar symbols, those of snakes and a whale, I think.  It is the most logical pattern and I twist the pillars to match.  Taking a deep breath, I shove the lever and dart out of the way just in case I am wrong, but there are no darts.  Instead, the gate opens cleanly. I thank my mother for the cleverness she blessed me with.

The scurrying of clawed feet echoes against the stone halls and soon enough, a group of skeevers come racing up.  I remember these things, overgrown rats that would infest our cellar in the winter.  They have a nasty bite, but are easy enough to kill and in a few swipes, they are dead. 

“Is anyone there?” a male voice comes from up ahead.  There are spiderwebs everywhere and this does not seem like a promising thing.  “Help! You up there! Help me!”

I move swiftly through the webs and into a chamber.  The shadow is the first thing to appear.  Then, the largest spider I have seen falls to the ground.  It moves around oddly, as though it were already hurt.  Sticky venom shoots straight at me and I slip behind some of the egg sacks to avoid the worst of it.  There are too many legs, too many eyes.  My axe cuts through two of the front legs, making the beast fall forward and I swipe at its eyes.

Hissing and spitting in rage, the spider backs away a few steps and then lunges again.  I feel the stings in my arms but the axe finds its mark in the creature’s head.  The smell is acrid and bloody and I feel myself growing dizzy.  Some of the poison must have hit me earlier I think, as my vision goes a little cloudy.  I reach for a potion before any possible trace of venom can get further into my blood.

“You did it! You killed it!” The voice belongs to a dark elf strung up in webs.  “Now get me down from here!”

Getting to my feet is a bit of a challenge, my muscles are stone but I manage it.  I walk up slowly, distrusting.  “Who are you?”

“I am Arvel the Swift! Now cut me down, woman.”

Not the nicest man I have ever met, I eye him for a minute.  I remember the thieves in the entrance chamber speaking about this elf.  He has the claw.  “Where is the golden claw?”

“Yes!” His eyes widen.  “The claw! I know how it works.  The claw, the markings, the Hall of Stories! Cut me down and I will take you there.”

“I don’t know about that.  There is no honor amongst thieves.”

His expression turns hard.  “You can’t have the claw and reach the door unless you cut me down, so you might as well get to it.”

He is right, the webs are too thick to reach him.  I have no choice but to slice the sticky webbing that has him trapped.  He wriggles constantly and the moment he is almost free, he shoves me away and takes off down the halls.  This is incredibly frustrating having to chase after this man who thinks he is so clever.  I can hear his laughing up ahead as he thinks he has outwitted me.  But then, the laughter turns to screams and I slow my chase.

I see his trouble now.  The words of warning from Camilla ring in my ears.  “The barrow up there, well, the dead don't always stay that way...” Drauger, men who are deceased but whose souls return to their withered bodies to guard the halls of the dead, walk around the chambers.  Arvel’s body lies between them, unmoving.  Draguer are easy to dispatch and my axe puts them at final rest.  And there, tucked in Arvel’s tunic, is a journal and the golden claw.

Should I turn back, or continue the way forward?  It seems as though continuing forward may be quicker, and I am pretty sure I can get out that way anyway. I pocket what I find and move through the halls again.  There is running water further down and I am able to wash off some of the grime and peel the extra spiderwebs from my body.  It is a good spot to stop for a meal as well.

Father up the maze of twisted halls, I find it- the Hall of Stories.  Beautiful carved murals line the walls and at the far end is a complicated door.  It has something to do with the claw.  I search through Arvel’s journal for a clue but I cannot read his handwriting, useless elf.  Something about the claw and the markings.

On the underside of the claw, there are three symbols resting on top of another.  I hold it up to the door and the pattern becomes apparent.  There are rings on the door, each with a symbol.  The stone can be moved, and I push the rock until the symbols in each ring line up to match the claw.  I slip the claw into the keyhole and it fits snugly.  It must not have been used for an age because it grinds loudly before there is a definite click and the door begins to slide open.  

I struggled to pull the claw free, it would be a crying shame to lose it here since this was the whole reason I am in this barrow in the first place.  The door falls away into the ground as I tuck the claw back into my bag and make certain Lucan will have his treasure back.

It opens into a very large chamber, the inside of a cave by the way the rock juts out in places. It smells dank in here, but there is no scent of death as before.  At the far end of the chamber, I see a giant wall.  My feet carry me there before I can even think about it.  Etchings in the wall, they match those on my shoulder.  Whatever they mean, they are similar lines and dots.  How I wish I knew what they meant!

Drumming pounds in my ears.  What is this?  I am pulled closer, my body moving on its own until my fingers can reach out and trace one of the words. Tendrils of light, icy fire wrap around me, flowing directly into my chest.  My heart pounds to the rhythm of the drumming and voices follow, deep and low.  I know this, at least I think I do.  It is familiar.  The chanting voices tell me what this means, this one word.  Force.  I recognize it and I have no idea how.

The light fades and the voices die out and I collapse to my knees, almost blacking out. My head swims and my blood tingles, itching with each pulse.  Something is not quite settled yet and I feel my body, my soul trying to accommodate whatever it was I just experienced.  There is something more to me now, I can tell.  I feel bigger on the inside as though something feral has woken within me.  It is both right and not right at the same time and it takes all I have not to panic. My hands fist and unclench repeatedly in a feeble attempt to keep calm, but it works after some time.

I sift through my pack and look at the vials.  There is nothing in there that I think can help.  I am not bleeding, so a health potion is unnecessary, but I swallow a mouthful of the sour stamina potion, hoping to get a bit more energy in my limbs.  It is a good thing I do because the moment I turn around, the lid is thrown off a coffin I had no idea sat there.

A drauger, a beast of a man with broad armor and a fierce pointed helmet, screams at me.  Whatever his words, I do not understand them, but the sheer force of it pushes me backwards a few steps. I had heard tales as a child of the Voice, words that could change the very air but this is the first time I had ever experienced it.  I stand frozen for a moment before his giant axe comes swinging towards my head.

“ _Fight_!” A voice shouts at me from inside my own head.

I duck and spin backwards and the axe hits the ground loudly, spraying tiny sparks.  My own axe tugs on his armor but does no damage and I scoot back.  The drauger’s movements are big and easy to predict.  It would only take one good hit for me to go down, and I do not give him the opportunity to get one in.  Instead, I dance around the room, just out of range of the large swing and wait for an opening.  He raises his arms too high and I dash forward, plunging my iron sword into his chest.  My other hand raises my axe and digs into the crook of his neck.  I kick out at his knee and he falls to the ground with a wail.

Leaving my own weapons imbedded in him, I pull his axe away.  It takes a few minutes for the nerves to stop twitching and when I am certain he will not move again, I check his pockets.  There are a few coins and a strange tablet.  It looks like a map of some kind and I slip it into my bag as well.  

Never again will I take fresh air for granted.  The stairs out of the barrow lead to an overlook and the land is blanketed in darkness.  While I crave sunlight, there is a calm and a peace under the watchful eye of the stars.  I sit on the overlook for a few minutes to repack all my gear correctly and tend to the few bumps and bruises I have, all the while breathing deep the clean air. 

The night is chilly as I walk along the river and the aurora burns brightly above me as I wind along the path.  The sound of wolves grows louder around me and as I have no torch to keep them at bay, they circle around me.  I heft the large war axe in my hands and swing it awkwardly.  I am not built for bulky two-handed weapons and it is only by pure luck that I catch the wolves the way I do.  

It is messy work, but wolf skins can sell and even if they don’t, I can make blankets from them.  I make camp by the riverside and build a fire and roast the meat I have just won.  As the black gives way to the dawn, it begins to rain.  There is no use sitting out here any longer and I begin trekking back to town.  There are a few people on the roads now, but none ask questions.

“Out of the way, filth,” a guard says and shoves me out of the way.

“Excuse you,” I snap back, catching myself before I fall.  “No need for rudeness.”

“Do you know who you address?” The guard sneers and I take in his strange appearance.  Elvish, I believe, and his company pauses.

“Do I care?” I raise a brow and hitch my bag on my shoulder.  

“This is the Thalmor Ambassador from Solitude.  A peasant like you has no right to lift your head to us, let alone speak.” His eyes are dark and menacing, but I find him and the rest of his party more annoying than anything.

I raise my hands in peace.  “I am sure you are all very important,” I roll my eyes, “with far more important things to do than shove over weary travelers. Be on your way then.”

“Peasant filth,” he mutters at me and I shake my head.  There is no hope for people like that, arrogance born from ignorance.  Elves tend to be like that and there is nothing I could say to convince them of the error of their ways.

They continue on their way and I shake it off.  I could use a warm bed and bracing mead after this adventure.  Riverwood looks inviting, the gates thrown open and people bustling around busily.

“Amora!” Frodnar comes running up.  “I thought you left.”

“I did.  I have something for Lucan at the Trader before I leave for good though.” Frodnar takes my hand and we walk over to the trading post together with him rattling off questions and things the whole way.  Another boy calls to him and he runs off and I enter the building.

“You are alive!” Camilla smiles brightly.  “Was it an adventure?”

I snort in amusement.  “A near death experience, thank you.”

“I did warn you,” she giggles.  “But did you find it?”

Lucan looks on eagerly as I place the claw on his counter.  “You did it! It looks smaller than I remember.  No matter, this is going to save our skins.  It isn’t much, but it should help you.  Anything else you need, you let me know.”

He slides a coin purse over and I tuck it away.  “Actually, would you mind if I take a nap for a bit upstairs? I am dead tired.”

“Sure,” Camilla leads the way.  “Stay as long as you like.”

“I have to get to Whiterun,” I yawn and soon I am asleep. 

 


	3. Whiterun and the Dragon

The path to Whiterun is well kept.  Cobblestones are worn smooth and the way bustles with carts and people coming too and from the city.  Some are caravans with paid guards, and others are families looking like they are running from something.  I keep my hood up, I don’t know if there is word that I was part of the executions at Helgen and I don’t want anyone to notice and send me back to that hell.

I feel the ground rumble a little in the distance and see a tall figure leaning over a farmhouse.  A giant.  Of course there is a giant.  It would be silly to think I could get from one place to the next without something interrupting an otherwise peaceful journey.  But my conscience tugs at me and I can’t leave well enough alone.  I run off towards the farm, drawing my bow at the same time.

I am not the only one there, a group of three others, clad in heavy hide and steel armor are calling out at the giant, swinging large swords. Dropping my pack, I aim my bow at the giant’s neck, hitting the mark a couple times.  I don’t know if it helped, but soon it comes crashing down to the ground, throwing rocks and dirt everywhere.

“Thank the Nine for the Companions!” a dirty looking woman says, a hand over her heart.

“No need to thank us,” one of the warriors says.  She looks menacing with war paint covering her face.  “We will get the bounty from the Jarl.  Whatever you find on this thing is yours.”

“Thanks for all your help,” one of the other warriors turns to me.  “Not.”

“I just got here,” I can’t help but be exasperated.  

The woman steps up.  “Not like you could do much anyway, tiny thing you are.”

I scoff.  “Whatever you say.  I can hold my own.  And it looked like you did just fine.  Should have saved my arrows and let you be stepped on.” I mumble more to myself and frown.

The woman laughs loudly.  “A fiery spirit.  If you think you have what it takes to be a Companion, visit us at Jorrvaskr in Whiterun.  Prove yourself then.”

“Aela, there is no way a whelp like this could be a Companion,” the third of the party looks me over and I pointedly ignore him, grabbing my pack.

“We said that about you too, you know,” Aela replies and they don’t give me another look as they walk away arguing amongst themselves.

The city looms over the road and even with the bright sun, the towering palace at the top casts a shadow over the path. Everything still looks bright and I see where the city gets its name.  The walls sparkle, looking like white diamonds in the light.  I amuse myself during the walk by braiding some of the mountain flowers into a bracelet.  It is a silly thing I learned as a child and it occupies my mind as I approach the gate.

“Halt!” a guard steps up and prevents me from entering.  “With the dragon threat, no one is to enter the city without papers.”

“I need to speak to the Jarl,” I say.

The guard chuckles.  “No one speaks to the Jarl.”

“I have news about the dragon attack on Helgen.”

This makes him pause.  “How do you know about that?”

“I was there,” I sigh.  “It is important, I need to speak to him soon.”

“Very well,” the guard motions to the men at the gate.  “But you will be watched carefully.  We don’t need trouble here.”

“No trouble,” I do my best to look contrite.  “Thank you.”

The inner city is busy, people everywhere working, trading, gossiping.  I keep my hood up and notice a blacksmith shop right at the entrance to the town.  It is quiet inside and there is only one man at the counter sharpening a sword.

“Welcome to Warmaiden’s,” he greats.  He is burly with a well-trimmed beard and a scar over his eye.  “Never seen you here before.”

“I am new in town,” I say softly and pull my hood back.

“Well you, my girl, have come to the right place for weapons and armor.  You looking for anything in particular?”

“I wonder what you might be willing to give me for these.”  I pull out a few of the items I found in the barrow and he inspects them closely.

“Where did you ever find ancient Nordic weapons like this?”  I hesitate, but he only chuckles.  “No matter.  I’ll cut you a good deal.”

We haggle for a moment and he seems impressed by my ability to barter correctly.  I don’t want to be rude, but I do not want to be taken advantage of either.  He cuts a fair deal and I take the gold he offers. Not once does he treat me like a child, or anything less than a fighter and I appreciate it.

“I like you,” he smiles.  “Ulfberth’s the name.  Let me buy you a drink the next time you are up at the Inn...?”

“Amora,” I smile back and I am pretty sure I have made my first friend here.  “I need to speak to the Jarl.  How might I get up there?”

“You are in the lower tier now, where all the shops are.  Head up toward the Bannered Mare where the well sits in the center of the square.  From there, you will see stairs that lead up to the Gildergreen Tree in the middle tier.  The stairs past there will lead you straight to Dragonsreach and the Jarl.  But why do you ever what to head up that way?”

“I have news for him.  Thank you Ulfberth, I will take you up on that drink sometime.”

He waves farewell and I follow his instructions up through the town.  There are market stalls surrounding the well and people only give me a passing glance.  I note where the Inn is and find the general goods store and the apothecary there as well.  The Gildergreen is not as stunning as it sounds, looking sickly and old, and there is a young girl sitting beneath it, kicking her feet under the bench.

“Excuse me,” she looks up at me.  “Do you have a spare coin or two?”

I blink down at her.  She is very young, maybe five summers or so, with short brown hair and sad eyes.  I sit down next to her.  “Why are you begging? Where are your parents?”

She shrugs.  “I don’t have parents and Braith says I should beg for coins out here.”

“Where do you live then?” I wonder.  It might be warm now, but when winter comes, where will she be?

“I stay at the temple when I can, or sometimes Hulda lets me stay in the kitchens at the Inn.”

“Here,” I dig out a few coins from my pocket and slip my flower bracelet over her tiny wrist.

“Thank you!” She smiles so brightly and runs off.  I see her head straight to the market stall with fresh fruits and vegetables and she makes her purchase with cheerful eyes.

There is a large shrine to Talos and a priest shouting sermons to anyone who will listen in front of me.  I remember learning of Talos as a child, the man who became a god.  But Mother said to never mention him outside of our home.  The Empire did not want us to worship him, and we always said our prayers in secret.  I take a moment to bow my head and say a a silent prayer of thanks and strength before turning away.

There are too many stairs in this city.  I am almost out of breath by the time I get to the top and stop to calm myself with my hands on my knees.

“Quite a climb,” one of the guards teases as he passes.  “Discourages those who have no business up here.”

“The entrance to see the Jarl?” I ask and he points me in the right direction.

Dragonsreach is huge, the main hall a large open space with a roaring fireplace in the center.  Long dining tables are off to each side and the wooden beams are intricately carved.  I approach slowly, suddenly aware that I look disheveled and dirty from the road.  Perhaps I should have cleaned up before coming.

“Stop there!” an angry female elf draws her sword and points it at me.  “What business does a dirty lass have here?”

I raise my hands.  “I have news of Helgen.”

“Helgen?” she looks me over in distain.  

“I was there.”

“That changes things,” she puts her sword away.  “Come with me, speak clearly and quickly. Do not waste the Jarl’s time.”

The Jarl is a middle aged man who leans back in his throne.  He has fair skin and light hair with a large ornate circlet on his brow.  He is speaking to a man off to the side as we approach and the elf makes me stop a few steps down from him.

“What is this, Irileth?” the Jarl looks between me and the elf.  

“Speak,” she says to me.

“My name is Amora Whitehart and I was at Helgen during the dragon attack.  I escaped with my life and ran to Riverwood and they led me here.”

“So it is true then,” he looks at me hard.  “Why were you in Helgen?”

I want to lie, I want to hide from him, but I have a feeling he will be able to tell.  His eyes are fierce and they can see straight through me. “I was going to be executed.  I didn't do anything wrong, but I woke in the back of a cart and I wasn’t even on the list, but they put me with the rest of the strangers to be executed.” I feel like I need to explain myself, to tell him that I am not a bad person, but he stops me with a raise of his hand.

“I am glad you are up front about that, but that is none of our business, Imperial executions and whatnot.  As long as you stay out of trouble here, there is no need to worry.”

“Yes sir,” I nod.

“Now tell me all about the dragon.”

I recall as much as I can about the attack without giving anything away about Ralof or Ulfric.  I do mention that a kind family let me stay with them in Riverwood and I express my concern over their safety.

“Irileth, detach a squadron to Riverwood at once and secure the area.”  I relax a little at the Jarl’s words and I feel like I have done what little I can to protect Gerdur and her family.

“My lord Balgruuf,” the balding man at his right speaks up.  “Are you sure that is wise? If a dragon attacks the palace, you will need all your men here to defend.”

“I will not leave my people and my land to burn, Proventus.  We have more than enough men here, we can spare a few.  Irileth, go.”

The dark elf bows once and disappears.  The Jarl turns to me.  “You have done well, lass.  I am sure it was no easy journey for you.  But I have something I would like you to do if you are up for it.  You will be compensated, of course.”

“What do you need?”

He stands and stretches and I realize that he is a built man, not as intimidating as Ulfric was, but strong enough in his own right.  He waves me forward.  “My court wizard, Farengar, has a task he has been pestering me about for days.  I think you may be able to help.”

We move into a side chamber and I look around.  There is a large map up to one side, and different ingredients scattered around the long tables.  I recognize an enchanter’s table and a man is bent over it.

“Farengar!” the Jarl barks and the man jumps.  “I have an assistant for you.  Let her know whatever you need.”

The Jarl walks off and I am left in the presence of a spindly man with a deep scowl on his face.  “Who are you?”

I introduce myself nervously and shift in my shoes.  “What is it that I can help you with?”

“I doubt you can,” he sneers at me and turns back to his ingredients.  “But if Jarl Balgruuf thinks you have some merit, who am I to turn down the help?  I need something important but unfortunately for me, it is located too far away for me to get myself. Plus, my talents lie in the mind, and not in...brutish strength.”

I feel like he has just insulted me despite my small size.  I purse my lips. “Alright. What is it?”

He rolls his eyes.  “A dragon stone.  It is a stone tablet with markings on it.  Very old, and very important.  Last that was heard of it, it was in a barrow not too far from here.”

“A stone tablet...in a barrow...” I reach into my bag and pull out the strange map thing I had found on the drauger's body.  “You mean like this thing?”

Farengar snatches it from my hands.  “How did you get it?”

“I was after some bandits,” I shrugged.  “I found it.  It that it?”

He looks at me slightly different now.  “It is.  I suppose you will want some reward for it.  Jarl Balgruuf can help you with it.  Now go away.  This is what I needed to continue my research so don’t bother me.”

I shake my head and turn to leave, only to find Irileth the dark elf standing there.  “You there, girl, come with me.”

“My name is Amora,” I frown.

“Until you have proven yourself to me, I do not care.  Come.”

I follow her up the stairs and notice there is a bit of commotion in the halls.  The guards are running around in a frantic sort of way and I jog to keep up with Irileth’s wide steps.  

“My lord,” she bows slightly to the Jarl and he looks at me.

“Could you not help?”

I chuckle.  “I already had what he was looking for with me, so it saved a trip.  What can I do for you now?”

“My lord,” Irileth interrupts as a soldier steps up.  He smells of smoke and ash, parts of his uniform burnt and torn.  I stagger back a step, recognizing the smell and the fear in his eyes.  “Tell the Jarl what you told me.”

“My lord,” the soldier shakes.  “I was stationed at the Western Watchtower when it came from nowhere.  A dragon, my lord.  The others were fighting when the captain told me to run here with the news and I came as fast as I could.”

“Is it dead or still there?”

“It was still alive when I left, my lord,” the soldier looked about ready to fall and I slide further back.  I know that look, I know the feeling of terror, the way the adrenaline burns just as hot as dragon fire.

“You have done well,” the Jarl pats him on the shoulder.  “Go get some food and rest.  You have done enough.”

“The others, my lord...”

“I will handle it.” The soldier bows and leaves and the Jarl turns to the elf.  “Irileth, I must ask you to go and assess the situation.”

“I already have a detachment waiting at the main gate, my lord.”

“This is no glory mission, I need to know what we are dealing with.”

“I am the very soul of caution.”

The Jarl laughs darkly.  “We both know that isn’t true. Amora, my friend, I am in need of your help again.  Will you go with Irileth to fight this dragon?  You were there at Helgen, you are the most experienced of us with this beast.”

I don’t want to.  I don’t really have much experience with dragons, and the Jarl knows all that I know, so how could he think that I could make much of a difference? Just because I saw a dragon does not mean I have any ideas on how to kill one.  But I do have more experience than the others.  I can still feel the heat of the flames on my skin, the scraping of the chains on my wrists.  The deafening roars still ring in my ears.  I am back in Helgen, watching the great black beast circle around with rage in its eyes and I am terrified. 

“Amora?” the Jarl’s voice pulls me out with a shout.  “Will you go, lass?”

I don’t want to, but I also cannot let others be subjected to that same fear.  I survived before, I could do it again, right?  I would rather leave this world fighting than cower behind the stone walls of this palace.  I am a Nord, the fight is in my blood and I will die to be welcomed into Sovngarde.  That small voice cries out in the back of my head again, _fight!_ “Yes.”

“Follow Irileth, she will lead you with the others.  May the Gods be with you.”

With shaky feet, I follow after the dark elf.  She instructs Proventus to take the things I do not need and I readjust the little armor I wear and double check the weapons I carry.  My bow and arrows are slung across my back and a steel sword rests against my hip.  The pouch of potions is tucked in my belt and I don’t need much else.

There are disgruntled sounds from the other guards as we head out the gate and towards the watchtower.  Irileth is giving some sort of speech meant to rally her men, but I don’t listen.  It is not like the words will help me anyway.  She takes too long trying to appease the nerves of her guards, all of them walking too slow for the urgency of this mission.  Perhaps she really is the very soul of caution, but I feel that there is no time to waste.  She doesn’t understand how little time it takes for a dragon to cause so much destruction.

I move silently ahead, seeing the blaze and the smoke up the road.  There is a small rock outcropping where I pause and take a look around.  Flames lick up the stone tower, smoke rising in thick columns to the evening sky.  I can feel the heat from where I am, but there is no dragon, no ear-bleeding screams of the beast.

“Do you see it?” Irileth comes up to my side.

“No.”

“It has obviously been here, the scorch marks are wide along the road.”

“But the air is still,” I point out.  “If it is here, it is lying in wait.”

“Let’s move.” She calls to the others, “Spread out and search for survivors but keep an eye on the sky.”

I pull my bow and nock an arrow just in case and jog with the others towards the tower.  Part of the tower has been torn down and the debris is scattered all around.  There are bodies littering the grass, but none I touch has a pulse.

“No!” a soldier screams at us.  “Get away! The beast is still here!”

I lift my bow and search the skies.  A dark shadow moves towards us from the south and I see it.  This is not the same dragon.

“What did you say?” Irileth is pointing at the building, directing others to drag the wounded inside the tower for cover.

I shake my head.  “This is not the dragon from Helgen.  It is different, lighter in color and a little smaller.”

“Damn it,” she swears sharply, understanding my meaning.  There are any number of dragons out there now. “Make every arrow count!” Irileth shouts to us.

My heart pounds hard making my breath hard to come by. I see the beast circling lower towards us and the roar vibrates in my chest.  Taking aim, I let an arrow loose.  It hits a scale and bounces off somewhere and I realize that my bow is next to useless on its body.  But it has to have a soft spot somewhere.  No creature is impenetrable. 

My bow is not strong enough to reach the dragon from the bottom of the tower and I race inside and up the stairs.  This time, no white-hot fire rips the stones loose and I am able to reach the top easily.  I have a better vantage point and am more level with the creature from here.  Already, the grass below is ash and more bodies lie motionless.

My bow is poised and I can see directly into the dragon’s eye as it circles around.  A rumbling, low and deep shakes my body and I understand.  The dragon is speaking to me.

“Dovahkiin.”

I am frozen in terror.  Why is the dragon speaking to me?  It pulls up, facing me head on, wings beating powerfully to keep its head level with my body.  It is four times my size with scales that shimmer from icy grey to red in the last of the day’s light.  

“I am Mirmulnir.  We have waited long for your coming.”

My hand slips and I release the arrow into the wing of the beast and the pained scream makes me duck and cover my head.  My eyes water and I am certain I will never hear again. The shadow passes over me and I smell the acid first.  Dragon fire burns the top of the tower and I feel my skin singe, running into the tower to put out the flames on my armor.

It is no longer safe atop the tower, but it doesn't matter because the beast is flying lower, the torn wing making him fumble in the air.  It is not long before more arrows bring him down to the ground for good. I throw my bow and quiver to the ground and pull out my sword.  It is my only good weapon now.

Joining the others, we surround the beast.  It is enraged and spewing acidic fire in every direction.  There is a discarded shield nearby and I tug it on my forearm.  Someone shoots at the dragon’s head from inside the tower and I notice a scale crack on the beast’s brow.  If somehow I could get up there, a quick stab into the space would likely kill the creature.  

The shield is too heavy and I drop it, circling behind the others.  Irileth sees me and I think she understands that I am about to do something both crazy and stupid, and opts not to say anything, which is fine because I need the distraction she causes.  I jump from the flapping broken wing onto the dragon’s back and shuffle up to its neck.  An arrow flies way too close to my head and I duck on instinct.  With a shout, I drive my sword directly into the space between the scales and the dragon screams again.

Writhing in pain, it throws me off and I go rolling in the charred grasses.  But I have done it.  We all watch as the dragon rears up once more before falling to the ground dead, its body rocking the ground from the force.  There are cheers around me and I take a moment to rest my head on my arms and try not to be sick.

I stand and go to retrieve my sword from the creature’s head when the scales begin to crackle.  The soldiers stop cheering and we all take a step away in caution.  Like blowing dust from a shelf, the scales turn to ash and blow away and something strange begins to happen.

Warm flames pull from the dragon into my body, not burning, just licking my insides with gentle heat.  I back away and try to brush them off of me at first, but then it becomes overwhelming.  Rushing, continuous rushing fills my body and I feel like I am overflowing, bursting with energy.  Someone is screaming and I am falling and flying all at once.  I can’t take anymore! It is too much, my body can’t contain anymore of this.

I blink and I am staring up at the stars, the moon having already risen.  There are murmurs around me and I struggle to sit up.

“Woah there,” one of the guards says and hands me a canteen.  I guzzle the clean liquid, water spilling down my chin and into my clothes.  “Easy now.”

“What happened?” My hands tremble and my body feels as though I had been stomped on by giants.

“We watched you kill the dragon and then you absorbed its soul.”

“Don’t tell her that,” another guard crouches down beside me.  “Those are just legends.”

The man who helped me sit up frowns. “We all saw it happen.  There is a pile of dragon bones now, and its soul vanished, straight into her.”

The others gather around.  “I heard tales of one who could do that.  Called Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.  They are dragon slayers and when the dragon dies, they absorb the soul so the dragon never returns.”

“On the skooma there, Jolvor? That is nonsense. There is no such thing as the Dragonborn.”

“No one thought there were dragons either, and yet here we are.”

They grow quiet and stare at me.  The guard beside me helps me to stand.  “Are you Dragonborn?”

I chuckle darkly.  “I don’t think I would know if I were.  Although the dragon did call me Dovahkiin.”

“It spoke to you?” the man stares with wide eyes.

I backed away slowly.  “Maybe, maybe not.”

“If you are, then maybe you can Shout.”

“I can what now?” I pick up my sword and look around for the rest of my things.  I see Irileth listening in as she tends to a wounded man.

“Shout.  Use the Voice and control the energy of the dragon souls.”

“You know this sounds ridiculous,” I point out and walk to where I last threw my bow, the other following.

“But have you tried?” he presses.  The others continue to watch me carefully.  “You just, I don’t know, listen to the dragon and let it out.”

I raise a brow in skepticism.  The only shouting I know of did not do anything but hurt my throat and irritate my mother.  But they all look at me as though I can do something special.  I had never been trained in the Voice before, so I highly doubt anything would come of this.  Wouldn’t it be interesting if I could use it though? 

I close my eyes and imagine it, a dragon in my soul.  The white-blue fire curls in my blood, the magic of the ancient beasts tingling along my veins.  The word, Force, comes to mind as the lines and dots of the strange language make themselves known to me.

“ _Fus!_ ” I Shout and everyone nearby stagger backwards and though thrown back by the air.

“You did it!” they murmur excitedly. “You must be Dragonborn!”

Irileth steps into the group and frowns heavily.  “I don’t care about any of this Dragonborn business, and I don’t put stock in old fairy tales.  All we have here is a dead dragon and that I do understand.  Amora, return to the Jarl and inform him of what happened.  The rest of you, help the wounded and stop gossiping like old housemaids.”

The others grumble and move off and Irileth steps up to me.  “You did well out here, and a good fight is something to be proud of.  The Jarl needs to know everything. _Everything_.”  She stares at me hard and I understand.  Whether she believes I am Dragonborn or not, the Jarl needs to know.

I grab my things and shuffle down the path back to the city.  It isn’t a long walk, but my mind is in tangles, making the steps seem longer.  Did I really Shout or were the guards playing a trick on me?  Am I really this Dragonborn? If I am, why did my parents not tell me? Maybe they did and I didn’t remember.

The ground shakes and thunder snaps through the air, bursts of lightening coming from no visible clouds.

_“Dovahkiin!”_

I hear the word clearly and my soul understands.  This word is meant for me.

 


	4. The Companions

“You heard it right? The call from High Hrothgar. The Greybeards. They summon the Dragonborn.” 

The guards are whispering amongst themselves as I head up to Dragonsreach again, the steps seeming longer than before.  Word has spread like a plague and the torches in the city show that most of the citizens have left the safety of their homes to gossip amongst themselves.  Fine for them, I suppose, since they do not have the burden of quite possibly being the true Dragonborn.

“Amora, thank the Gods,” the Jarl approaches me before I am halfway into the hall and ushers me upstairs for more privacy.  “Where is Irileth?”

“She stayed behind to help the wounded and asked me to make a report.”

“And the dragon?”

I take a deep breath.  “Dead now.” I explain in greater detail and leave nothing out.  He listens intently, his brow furrowed and I wonder if it will be permanently stuck that way.  He asks that I demonstrate my Shout and it takes a few moments for me to get the feeling back before I knock a few vases over with only my voice.

“So it is true.  The Greybeards have summoned you to High Hrothgar.”

“Who are they?” I wonder.  I have never heard of these people before.

The Jarl smiles a little.  “They are masters of the Way of the Voice and they can teach you all you want to know about your gifts.  It is unwise to ignore their summons.”

“What if I am not the Dragonborn?” Even with all that is in front of me, I still cling to the hope that I am not the one they are looking for.

“Then they will know and you will have simply made a great pilgrimage. Either way, it is best you take the journey there when you are able to.  I wouldn’t put it off.  You said this was not the same dragon as in Helgen, which means there are more out there.”

“Why have they come back now?”

Jarl Balgruuf looks so weary as he leans on the table.  “Who knows? All we can do is safeguard our lands as best as we can.  In the mean time, you have done a great service to my city and I thank you.  I award you the title of Thane and assign Lydia as your housecarl.  Proventus can set you up with a house here in the city if you would like, I know there are a couple available.”

“I can’t afford that yet, but thank you.  It is my honor.”

He chuckles softly.  “When you are ready.  There are rooms in the Bannered Mare for the evening, but my suggestion is to head into Jorrvaskr and speak to the Companions.  They can use someone like you.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“No lass,” he pats my shoulder.  “You have done enough for now.  Get some rest and I will take it from here.  But don’t forget the Greybeards.  They won’t wait for too long.”

“Thank you, Jarl,” I bow politely and leave the palace, my mind running in circles. I am hesitant to take journey to the top of the mountain and instead, follow the Jarl’s advice and head to Jorrvaskr.

It is not hard to find in the least.  Sitting in the tier below the palace, the building is large and intimidating.  When I asked the guard on patrol in the area, he laughed and pointed at it and wondered aloud if I really wanted to go in there.  Why does everyone judge me so quickly?  I think I am proving myself to be worth something more than a mousy young girl. I wonder if Ralof would be proud of the things I have done.

The moment I step in, I hear shouts coming from the far end of the hall.  There is some sort of brawl going on, but it seems to be sport and not battle.  Other people crowd around and offer cheers and advice as a woman and an elf come to blows.  This must be a regular thing.

“Excuse me...” I tap a man on the shoulder and he glances down at me briefly.  “Who is in charge here?”

He snorts and focuses on the fight.  “That would be Kodlak.  You can find him down in the living quarters.”

“Oh. Okay thank you.”  He ignore me and I glance around.  The living quarters are...hidden somewhere apparently.  There is an elderly woman off to the side who seems content to ignore the shouts and cries of pain.  “Excuse me.”

“Oh I am just an old servant, dear.  You will want to speak to one of the Companions, I’m sure.”

“They seem a bit preoccupied at the moment,” I glance back and to my surprise, she laughs.

“It is a common event here.  No harm to it, dear.”

“I am looking for Kodlak.”

She shuffles around and points to a set of stairs I didn't notice.  “Down there at the end.  Don’t be shy.”

I thank her and head down into the apparent living quarters.  It smells of fresh baked bread and sharp steel and it is comforting.  Following the woman’s direction, I try not to feel like a sneak thief and walk quietly down the hall.

“I am having a harder time resisting the call of the blood,” a younger man’s voice complains from behind the door at the end.  “I still hear it call to me.”

An older voice answers him.  “It is our burden to bear, but we can overcome it, Vilkas.”

“You know my brother and I are with you, but I don’t know about the rest.”

“Let me take care of it.  Someone comes.”

I realize they hear me and I knock solidly on the door.  The older voice tells me to enter and I stand tall.  “I am looking for Kodlak.”

“I am Kodlak Whitemane,” the older man says.  He has shoulder length grey hair braided neatly on each side and a fluffy beard smartly trimmed.  His eyes are near white and a tattoo marks one side of his face.  “You are?”

“Amora Whitehart.”

“Ah,” he recognizes my name, which I cannot be sure is a good thing.  “Yes, the guards have been talking of you.”

“That is unfortunate,” I frown and he laughs.  “The Jarl suggested I come here to look for a place.”

Kodlak smiles a little, the corners of his lips turning up.  “Looking to join the Companions?  Let me look at you.”  And he does, his eyes searching more than just my frame.  His gaze is warm and I sense he can see more than just a young lass standing before him.

“Master, you can’t be serious,” the younger man scoffs.  “Look at her!”

“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas,” Kodlak snaps, as though he has had this discussion many times and no one has listened to him.  “And I am looking.  There is always a place here for those with a strong heart.”

“And a strong arm, which I doubt this child has.”

“Hmm,” Kodlak hums to himself.  “True, Companions are warriors first.  How are you in battle, lass?”

I could mention that I took down a dragon only hours ago, but boasting has never been a speciality of mine.  It is better to remain humble in front of this man who has probably faced more than I have. “I can hold my own.”

“Is that so?” Kodlak looks amused more than anything else.  “Vilkas can determine that.  Why don’t you take the lass out to the training yard and see for yourself whether she deserves a place here?”

“I may send her to the temple for healing instead,” Vilkas sighs heavily.

“At least I will have a bed,” I shrug and Kodlak barks in laughter and pulls out a journal, shooing us away.

I get a better look at Vilkas as he turns to face me out in the training yard and the torches flicker on his features.  He is muscular, but scruffy looking.  His eyes look sunk in, but most of it is due to the caked on war paint around them.  His dusty brown hair looks like it had been recently cut with a dull dagger, and he cannot be older than twenty summers or so.

“Alright.  The old man said see what you have.  Take a couple of swings so I can see if you have any talent in that tiny body. Don’t worry about holding back, I can take it.”

I sigh and set my things down to the side.  “I wish people would stop making assumptions about me based on my physicality.”

“If you want people to take you serious, you have to prove it.  Make me see you are not some milkmaid.  Come on.”

He pulls up his shield and nods toward my sword.  Suddenly, I am nervous.  What if I am not good enough?  No, this man is not as tough as the dragon.  I can do this.  He nods once again and I lunge.  Using all of my strength, I slam the blade into his shield and he staggers back.

“Good, again,” he calls.

I step to the side and bang my sword sideways and he lowers his shield quickly.  I turn and aim for his other side, swinging easily.  The force is not quite as extreme, but he watches my movements carefully.  After a half hour of this, we turn to the bow and he hands me a quiver.

“As many in the center as you can.”

There are only ten arrows and I nock the first.  It doesn’t hit the direct center, but lands in the next ring.  As I am about to loose the second, Vilkas whacks my elbow and the arrow goes flying off to hit the wall.

“What in Oblivion?” I shout at him.

His face is blank.  “Again.”

I growl low and nock another, but now my attention is split between him and the target.  Just as I get ready to release, I see him move forward.  I step forward and slip away from his attack.  The arrow flies forward into the correct target and I swing the bow to smack his thigh.  He only laughs and tells me to try again.  We do this strange dance where I sidestep him and both strike the target and him, and soon the quiver is empty.

“Not bad,” he nods.  “But you are still new blood to us, so you will have to follow orders exactly until you can really prove yourself.  Got it?” 

I nod.  His expression is not as harsh as it was before so I assume I did well.

He points with his head, his arms folded across his chest.  “Take my sword up to Eorlund to have it sharpened.  He is up at the Skyforge.  And be careful.  It is worth more than you are.”  His remark is supposed to sting more than it actually does.  I think I have impressed him and I smirk and take his weapon.  

Skyforge looks like every other blacksmith’s workspace, but it feels slightly different, filled with some ancient power I don’t understand.  A large man works the bellows and I walk up slowly.  He wears armor that doesn’t cover much of his chest and what skin there is, is covered in soot. I stand there awkwardly for a moment before he notices me.  

“What brings you up here, lass?”

“Um, Vilkas sent me up here with his sword for you.”

Eorlund chuckles and pulls a bright red piece of metal from the fire and sets it on the anvil.  “You must be the one he was working with down there.  New blood?” I nod and he begins to strike the metal with his hammer.  “Don’t worry much about it.  They were all whelps at one point so they understand.  Just work hard and prove yourself and they will come around.  And don’t always do what you are told.  No one likes a bootlicker.”

“Are you also a Companion?”

He chuckles.  “Not me.  I only work the Skyforge and help them out.  Good bunch of kids if there ever were.  Go ahead and set that steel down over there.”

I carefully set Vilkas’s sword down and watch Eorlund work for a while.  He makes small talk and tells me about his family in town.  The metal slowly takes shape as he works it over and sticks it back into the fire to reheat.

“Do me a favor will you? I have Aela’s shield here and she needs it back.  Can’t leave the fires just yet, so it would be a big help.”

“Didn't you tell me not to do everything others tell me to?” I tease and pick up the shield anyways.  

“You sass,” he smiles.  “She’ll be inside arguing with Skjor no doubt.  Thank you.”

Aela is exactly where Eorlund said she would be and I wait off to the side for her to stop growling at Skjor.  There is something within the Companions that they are hesitant to address openly and I can feel it bubbling under the surface.  Just as Vilkas and Kodlak stopped talking before i met them, Aela and Skjor pause to address me.

“Eorlund sent me with your shield,” I hand it over.

“Thank the Gods, I have been waiting for this one.” She inspects it closely before setting it down against her leg.  “I remember you.  Seems you impressed Vilkas.  He was grumbling about new blood earlier.  You were shown where to sleep?”

“Not yet.”

Aela yells for someone named Farkas and I shrink away from Skjor’s intense gaze.  He is watching me sharply and his eyes make me nervous. Vilkas walks up and Aela smiles.

“Farkas, show the new blood where she sleeps.”

“Sure thing,” he responds and I stare at him.  “I’m Farkas.  By your face, I would guess you met my brother.”

“Vilkas is your twin isn't he?” I put the pieces together quickly.

“He is the brains.  I am more the brawn.  This way.”  

He talks about some of the others in the hall, Tilda, the elderly woman I met earlier and a few other names whose faces I do not know.  “Here we are.  Pick a bed and fall in it when you are tired.  Get to know the others here as well.  We are all still making a name for ourselves so be sure to act accordingly.  Need work or anything else, talk to me or Aela or Skjor.  We will get you straight.”

“Thanks Farkas,” I offer a shy smile.

He simply pats my shoulder with a grin.  “Find me in the morning. I will have a job for you then.”

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep after that.

*

_“Amora, what are you doing?” my mother calls to me from inside the house.  I am very young, only a few summers old then and her voice is so sweet as it beckons me._

_“Fighting dragons Mama,” I call back to her.  Her gaze grows worried for a moment and she comes outside where I pluck the dragon’s tongue flowers from the garden._

_“Who told you about the dragons?” she asks and pulls me in close to her._

_“I did.” The voice belongs to a great shadow that falls over the garden.  The black dragon covered in sharp spikes lands in front of me and opens its jaws wide. Everything erupts in fire and I hear my mother screaming, consumed by flame._

I feel the sweat dripping down my neck as I pull myself away from the dream.  No one else was disrupted by my nightmares and I am glad that I hadn’t screamed out in my sleep.  I do not rest well the rest of the night.

Dawn breaks and I pull myself together as best I can, splashing water over my face to erase the dark circles but I doubt it helps. Some of the others, a young woman named Ria and a man called Torvar whom I guess is a perpetual drunk, both greet me pleasantly and I try to smile, but I am left alone.  It is Tilda who comes in not long after the others have left and she hands me a plate.

“Thank you,” I murmur and stare at it, not really hungry.

“Try to eat.  I know it is hard adjusting but things get better, dear,” she smiles and brushes my hair with the withered fingers.

I nod and attempt a few bites to appease her and she leaves me to my own devices.  The dream sticks around longer than I am comfortable, but I cannot hide in this room all day.  Out in the hall, I run in to Kodlak.  

“Good morning lass,” he smiles cheerily, but the grin fades quickly.  “What is the matter?”

“Ah, nothing,” I play it off, but he gives me a look that slumps my shoulders.  “Nightmares is all.”

A shadow passes over his face.  “Dreams are strange things.  Sometimes they help us discern the future. Other times, they reveal our deepest fears.  It is best to let it pass and let things happen as they will.”

“I will.  It is hard to shake this one, but it will be alright.”

He smiles again and wraps an arm around my shoulder.  “Good girl.  Best to see Farkas, I think he has a task for you if you are ready.”

Farkas is on top of me the moment I step into the main hall and regrettably Kodlak leaves me to his mercy.  “I need you to do something for us.  We will give you a cut, of course, so don't worry about that.”

I hadn’t thought much about it, I have enough coin to last for a while, but if being a Companion pays well enough, I might be able to buy the house the Jarl mentioned and make a home here.

“Please tell me it has nothing to do with bandits,” I mumble.

“Warlocks, actually,” Farkas gives me a strange look.  “Rogue wizards.  I don’t trust magic, makes me jumpy.  You got something against bandits?”

“Bandits make me jumpy,” I laugh and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“They are causing trouble, here let me see your map.  It is a few days journey.  You okay with that?”

I shrug.  Doesn't matter much to me and he marks a decent path.  

“Good.  Do whatever you need to,” he looks at me firmly and I understand.  Sometimes it is better to end the threat permanently.  “Report back when you are done, and be careful.”

“Worried about me already? No faith whatsoever.” I push him away and roll up the map.

Farkas is kind and helps me pack my things, adding extra rations and promising to talk to some of the shops to sell off my extra gear.  As I walk out, I see Vilkas waiting by the entrance.

“Did you get your task?” he asks.

“Yes.  Off to take care of some mages.”

“Be careful,” he advises and looks me over.  “Tricky folk they are.  We will all be waiting for your return.”

“Don’t miss me too much, Vilkas,” I smirk and head out, hearing his laughing and curses behind me.  It is still early enough that the town is fairly quiet and the guards let me out easily.  

The travel is easy and I exchange passage on the back of a carriage for taking care of the wolves that attack.  I am dropped off fairly close to my destination and the hike up is steep. Rannveig’s Fast, Farkas had called it.  Cold and desolate, it reminds me vaguely of Bleak Falls Barrow.  The stone is falling to pieces and there is something haunting about this place.  My weapons sit at the ready and I approach cautiously.

There is evil here, it prickles along my skin.  Something unnatural spins in the wind and I push into the Fast.  I am not two steps in the door when I hear a pained sob.

“I am sorry! I don’t want to do this!”

I draw my sword and look around.  A shimmer in the air reveals itself as a ghost, a warrior soul called back to this world and the horror of such an ordeal shows on its face.  This poor soul. Who had done this?  It swings at me and I feel a very real blade brush my cheek.

“I can’t control it! Please, I am sorry!”

“If I strike you, will you be at peace?” I ask it, backing away from the wild swinging. I am hesitant to re-kill it if it will only injure the soul more.

“Yes! Let me rest!” He swings again and I block it. Pushing the blade away, I strike at his chest and the image dissolves.

He is not the only one and a few others rise from the dust.  Each apologizes over and over and I slice through the apparitions to let them rest in peace.  The further in I move, the more angry I become.  Whoever was raising them had no care for these souls.  Obviously they were in pain, and suffering with this task.  Whoever this was is a coward and I will be happy to end their miserable existence.  

The Fast opens up into a large hall and I skirt around the rubble. Oh not this again. I sigh heavily as drumming begins to fill my head.  The voices chant, beckoning, and there is no resistance.  I manage to step around the grate in the middle of the floor before my hands fall against the great stone wall.  The strange engravings glow and I grit my teeth against the fierce tingling in my nerves.  Kyne.  The word is pounding in my head and even though my eyes are closed, I see the symbols behind my eyelids.

Finally, it all fades and I can breathe a little easier.  I stumble back and my heel catches on something. Landing hard on the slotted metal of the grate I had avoided earlier, it gives way and I am falling. A trap, of course I had fallen into a trap.  Thank goodness no one else is here to see this.  I slam hard on my side and move to stand immediately, but pain shoots up my leg.  It could be just sprained, or I could have actually broken it, but I don’t have time to check. 

I am stuck in a cage and three other bodies lie motionless in here with me. They must have broken my fall.  Dank, bloodied water soaks into my clothes and I scramble away from the bodies covering my mouth and nose from the rancid scent.

“Greed makes people do stupid things,” a man laughs at me.  “Such a clever trap, placing the hole just in front of the empty treasure chest.  You are much luckier than the others who came down that way.”

What is he talking about? What treasure? He has dusty skin and a mean gaze.  It looks like he has been stuck down here far too long alone with only himself.  He stares down at a body on the other side of the cage. Her body is mangled and broken and I am certain he had something to do with it.  No doubt that will be my same fate if I cannot get out of here.

“This is my assistant. She didn't last very long.”  He almost seems regretful, but he looks up suddenly with a wide grin.  “You’ll do for now.  Don’t go anywhere, I have to prepare some things.”

He turns his back and I search my pockets and those of the dead in here with me.  There is only one lock pick set that I can find so I will just have to be careful.  Sliding quietly up to the door, I am sure that the man is distracted with his ramblings before I set to work on the lock.  The pins slide and click into place as my heart races.  No more chains, no cages, I need to be free.  Finally, I feel the last tumbler fall in place and I wrench it open.  The door creaks and the mage comes flying from around the corner.

“No!” he screams at me.  “No I need you! You cannot leave! I need your body!”

I panic and flail backwards, my spine slamming into the bars of my cage painfully.  The man’s eyes are crazed, wild and dangerous and I cover my body as ice shoots towards me.  It stings my skin, but it is not enough to keep me in place.  Despite my screaming leg, I lunge forward and catch the man around the waist, throwing us both out of the cage.  

He is pinned beneath me and I grab the dagger I keep at my side.  There is no time for a bigger weapon and I plunge it straight into his heart repeatedly.  I close my eyes and refuse to watch the life drain from him.  Blood spurts up from the holes in his chest and covers my hands and it soaks into my clothes.  He has the key to the Fast, and I rip the mage’s insignia from his robes as proof.

My hands won’t stop shaking and my stomach rolls.  I have little experience with mages, but I hope they are not all like this.  The only sound left is the steady dripping of water from the ceiling.  There are a few useful things in the room, but it is mostly cages filled with decaying bodies.  I can’t help it, I know they are dead but I have to open all the doors. I have to, they have to be free even in death.  My fingers fumble with the locks in my desperation to tear the doors open.  When the last door is open, I fall to my knees and try to pull myself together.  What is wrong with me?

I don’t think my leg is broken, but I am hesitant to use any healing potions in case it is and it sets wrong.  Instead, I bind it as best I can and struggle to find the exit.  The job is done, and I need a healer.  To my greatest blessing, there is a caravan down on the road headed straight for Whiterun and I offer a few gems for the chance to ride in the back of the wagon.

Never do I curse the stairs to the second tier of the city as much as I do now.  The makeshift crutch I fashioned from a tree branch on the journey keeps me stable.  It is well past dark when I enter Jorrvaskr, grumbling, exhausted, and frustrated with myself and my situation.

“She has returned!” Torvar shouts to the hall and a few faces turn to face me in surprise and greeting.

Farkas and Vilkas are at my side at once.  “What happened to you?”

I find a seat and fall in it with a wince.  Tossing the insignia on the table, I frown heavily.  “The job is done.  No more mages in that place.”

“Good work,” Vilkas nods and picks up the patch of cloth.  “Gave you a bit of trouble, did he?”

I push away the anxiety that rises up in my chest.  Falling, the cage, the panic, the blood gushing over my hands.  No answer is necessary.

“Tilda can check your leg,” Farkas points with a crinkled brow and I nod in agreement.

Tilda is gentle with her crooked fingers as she checks for any breaks.  When she gives the all clear, I swallow the sickly sweet potion and slump back in my seat.  The muscles and tendons ache fiercely at they repair themselves.  My eyes close, but I feel someone join me on the bench nearest.

“How are you, my girl?” Kodlak’s calm tones soothe my anxiety.

I struggle to sit up, the weariness rests in my bones.  My fingers knot themselves together.  “I was so scared.”

He listens patiently while I tell him all that had happened.  Without judgment, he nods and watches me carefully, much like my father did when I was young.  “It sounds like you need a hot bath and a long sleep.”

I smile a little.  “That sounds good.”

“Know that you are safe here.  The twins patrol the halls at night so no one will harm you, but I will be sure to tell them to be extra cautious.”  I know what he is doing, making me feel safer even though I am aware that the threat is gone.  But the mind works in strange ways and while I am certain this mage is gone, there could be others that sneak up on me in the night and my nightmares are bad enough.

“That is kind, but I should be alright.”

He stands up and stretches.  “They don’t mind. It keeps them out of trouble.  After my first job with this group, I slept with all the torches lit in the hall. But you did well, lass.  Mages are no easy thing to go up against and you have proven your bravery here.”

He tugs my braid fondly and moves off and I am left to head to bed. The others give me encouraging words as I pass, and Aela and Skjor watch me with sharp eyes as I clean up and fall into a bed.  My dreams are filled with ice and fire and cages that only grow smaller.

I am given days to recover, occasionally asked to run smaller errands within town, and I spend my days getting to know the people and learning from them.  The town seems to be split between the two clans, the BattleBorns and the GreyManes.  For the most part, people seem to be neutral on the tensions outside the city, content to adopt the same philosophy as the Jarl. Whiterun is for itself, a city free of fighting between the Imperials and the Stormcloaks and that is fine by me.  I want no part in this war.

Weeks pass this way and when I feel up to it, Aela sends me off on a few jobs with the others.  Ria and I take on a giant camp and return victorious.  We are the youngest in the Hall and the others celebrate our success loudly with us.  The Jarl even joins us one night and the others are surprised that he regards me so highly.  I am thoroughly embarrassed when he regales the others with my battle with the dragon and I hide behind my mug.

“Why didn’t you say you had bested a beast like that?” Aela looks offended and slings a drunken arm over my shoulders.  “My Shield Sister is the best!”

Skjor frowns heavily, “Not a Shield Sister yet.” My cheeks are a bright red when Skjor peels her off of me to take her to bed.  It is like this that I slowly get to know my new family much better.  They teach me to fight and I feel myself grow stronger every day.

“Amora!” Eorlund catches my attention one afternoon. He must be coming back from a meal with his family.  His wife pesters him about spending time together and while he receives a lot of teasing from the Companions, I think it is sweet. “Skjor was looking for you.”

I pout a little.  To be honest, Skjor still makes me nervous.  He is just a big beastly man.  He rarely smiles and considers everyone weaker than him.  We all probably are, he takes the most challenging jobs and always comes back with crazy tales.  He has never been unkind, but his gruff personality is much like cuddling a prickly bush.

“There you are,” he growls out when I meet him in the training grounds.  “Aela and I have been talking.”

I can’t hide my smile.  Those two are the worst kept secret in the Hold.  Aela adores him, and she is the one he detests the least.  Athis swore up and down he saw them bedding together one night, but none of us dare speak of it.

“Those of us in the Circle agree it is time for your Trial to join us officially.  Are you up for it?”

“What do I need to do?” I have been waiting for this for weeks now.

For the first time, I see his lips turn up in what I can only assume is a smile.  “You and Farkas will be traveling to Dustman’s Cairn where we believe a fragment of Wuuthrad lies.”

“I don’t need to go alone?” I can feel the relief pulse through me.

“No.  Farkas will serve as your Shield Brother and make sure you act honorably.  He is preparing to leave so whenever you are ready, let him know.” 

A smile graces my lips.  Not only do I have a chance to be a part of the Companions at last, but I do not have to go alone. I am ready for this.


	5. Dustman's Cairn

“Pay attention to her, Farkas,” I hear Vilkas murmur to his brother.  “She may just have what we are looking for.”

“But are you sure we should be adding to our numbers? If Kodlak is right and this is a curse...”

“The decision will ultimately be hers.  Aela wants to do it now, so see if Amora can even handle it.”

I wish I could say that others weren’t talking behind my back recently, but this was a similar conversation to one I heard the other day between Skjor and Kodlak.  Something is going on here that I am not a part of and it is suspicious.  I clear my throat and step around the corner.  “Farkas?”

“Hey!” he smiles brightly.  “You talked to Skjor?”

“He said we will be traveling together.”

“Indeed.  Are you ready to head out?”

I nod and wait for Farkas to say farewell to his brother.  Vilkas turns to me as Farkas grabs his pack.  “Watch out for this ice-brain, will you?” Vilkas grins deviously at his brother.  “You shouldn’t have too much trouble, but I would like him back in one piece if you can.”

Farkas attempts to strangle his twin with playful curses to his name.  Sometimes I forget that they are not a whole lot older than I am, but seeing them teasing and lively like this, they look much younger.  “Let’s go,” Farkas tells me as he kicks his brother gently in the shin in farewell.

I had hoped that the rain would stop, but it looks like we will be stuck in the storm.  It is late autumn and the weather is temperamental.  I ask him questions about him and his brother and our task and the other Companions and he is happy to gossip with me as we walk in the dreary downpour.

Off in the distance, I hear the roar of a dragon.  Immediately, my hand is on my sword and my eyes scan the skies.  Circling the tips of the mountains far off, I see it.  It has no interest in flying this way, but I keep an eye on it.

“Easy now Sister,” Farkas pointedly looks at my nervous hand clutching the hilt of my sword.  

“Sorry. Dragons...”

“He it still far off and I doubt he will head this direction.  Let’s camp for the night.  There is a good rock outcropping here.”

 He is right, and the stone juts out from the mountain to shield us from the rain that has suddenly picked up.  I lay out our bedrolls and divide up rations as he gets a fire going.  He struggles with the wet wood and I try not to laugh at his difficulty.

We watch the flames in comfortable quiet for a long time before he asks.  “Where is your family?”

“I don’t know.  I remember them, and most of my past now.  But I don’t know where they are or why we separated.  Last I remember is my father telling me to run for the border, and everything was in flames and that is it.”

“So they might be alive then?”

When I think about them, there is no hope there.  “I don’t think so. My heart tells me they are gone.”

“You have us now though,” Farkas offers a gentle smile and I can’t help returning it.

“I think my parents would be happy with you all.  My mother especially would love the adventures.” I can’t help the fond smile from the memories of her.

“You are like her then?”

I giggle.  “More than I would care to admit.  She was quite the fiery spirit.”

“And a beauty no doubt.”  Farkas’s words are murmured and I don’t think they were meant to be aloud.  “It is late.  Do you want the first watch?”

I agree to stay up and tend the fire and in no time at all, Farkas has his limbs spread out, mouth open and strange growls coming from his chest.  I wonder what he is dreaming about, he seems to be restless in his sleep.  Muscles twitch constantly and he shifts, rolling over and dragging the bedroll until he is curled up against my thigh. I freeze, trying not to move in the tiniest amount as his face nuzzles my leg.

“Farkas?” I whisper.  Does he know he does this in his sleep?  He doesn’t wake but proceeds to rub his forehead against my thigh.  Not sure what else to do, I reach over and brush the hair from his face.  He keens, a high pitched whining sound that a stray mutt makes when he begs for scraps.  I run my fingers through his hair and he settles considerably.  Brushing a small spot behind his ear makes him growl adorably and I can’t stop the giggle that escapes.  He is like a puppy and the thought amuses me.

The moon begins to set and Farkas shoots awake suddenly, eyes open wide and nose sniffing the air.  I wait until he relaxes and rubs his eyes.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods after a moment and yawns widely.  “Get some rest.  I will keep watch.”

I appreciate the switch because I am exhausted, my eyes drooping heavily.  He says nothing of how he woke up directly next to me when he fell asleep across the fire.  I can only guess that it is not unusual for him and I drift off.

The smell of roasting meat wakes me the next morning and I blink awake.  Farkas is bent over the fire turning a stick with rabbit meat.  He must have gone hunting early and my mouth waters at the delicious smell.

“Morning,” he looks back and smiles brightly.  “Sleep well?”

There were no nightmares, so I guess that counts as sleeping well.  I stay quiet all through the meal and Farkas does not disturb the early morning peace.  As we pack our things and cover the fire, I turn to him.

“Do you chase rabbits in your sleep?” I ask him.

His expression is one to remember, both confusion and embarrassment fill his cheeks with a pink flush.  “I did something unspeakably horrid in my sleep, didn't I?” He ducks his head and busies his hands with the bags.  “This is why Vilkas is usually the one to come with me.”

“You move around a lot, and sometimes it sounds like you bark and growl.” I am not stifling the laughter well and he shoots me a half-hearted glare.

“I don’t rest well, okay?” He is pouting a little now and I can’t help it.

“You rested just fine, drooling all over my leg.”

The horror on his face sends me into a fit of giggles and I clutch my stomach.  He hefts his bag up and begins to stomp away muttering curses to the Gods and exclaiming loudly that the ground could swallow him whole anytime now.

“Wait!” I grab my pack and race after him.  “Farkas, don’t leave me here!” I keep laughing as we head up the trail.  He isn’t angry and eventually he smiles at me again.

Dustman’s Cairn is a typical Nordic barrow, a giant hole in the ground that leads to the underground burial crypts. We step into the barrow and Farkas pulls me closer.

“Time to be serious now,” he says and I see the many experiences he has had cross his face.  He is no longer the young man laughing by the fire.  Now he is Farkas, the Companion warrior.  “This is your Trial, so you will lead, but be careful.  These places have traps, and who knows what lies further down.”

“Drauger, skeevers most likely,” I frown in disgust.

“Hopefully nothing worse than that.  Move smart and I will watch your back.”  

We draw our weapons and begin to move through the tunnels.  Some places only leave enough space to squeeze through, but other portions of the path are open and comfortable.  Farkas follows silently, the only sign he is with me are the steady breaths he takes.  I stop suddenly and he looks over my shoulder.

“What is it?” he whispers.

There is something ahead, I can hear the sounds of stone crunching under someone’s foot.  Sneaking closer, I see the issue.  “Drauger.”

I readjust my grip on my sword and Farkas nods to me.  My blade slides easily through the first drauger, but soon, more rush up attracted by the noise.  The halls are too cramped to fight easily.  Weapons catch against my armor and everything is a blur of motion.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Farkas collapse to a knee and I step in front of him defensively.  One by one, the drauger are dispatched, making a small wall of bodies in front of us.

“You okay?” I ask and Farkas stands with a scowl and a wince.

“Bastard got me in the side.” He lets me inspect his side and accepts a potion without protest.  It is likely he will get an infection with an open wound in a place like this without taking care of it quickly.  There is enough death here already.

We take a moment to catch our breath and then press on.  Drauger lurk throughout the halls and we do our best to give them final rest before they have a chance to spot us.  It isn’t far in that we come to a chamber that looks promising.  There is a large table in the center, and tables and shelves and alcoves around the edges. The hall on the far side is blocked off with a gate.

“It is a piece of an old axe,” Farkas reminds me what we are here for, and we search the area.  Aside from the ruined books and the few herbs and mushrooms, there is nothing of real value here.  I enter one of the alcoves and peek into the bowls.

There is a lever and I figure it is the one that opens the far gate.  With the intention of opening the other gate to continue our search, I shove the lever over. The gate to the alcove slams shut with a disturbingly loud clang.  At least the other gate opened.

“Um...Farkas?”

He is beyond amused as he approaches the gate.  “You just had to go poking levers, didn’t you?”

I rush back to the lever, but no matter the strength I use, it is stuck and won’t budge. “I was trying to open the other gate.”  I touch the bars and the panic begins to set in.  “Farkas?”

His grin fades immediately at my tone and he speaks in a serious calm.  “Hold on, I will go find the release.  Just breathe, I will be right back.  You are alright.”

The strength in my legs gives out and my hands grip the bars tightly.  The metal rattles as I try to push the gate up but it will not budge.  No! This is not okay! I need to get out! I refuse to be trapped in here.  Flashes of memory blind me and I can hear my ragged breath.

“Amora!” Farkas touches my hand from the other side and I grip him tightly.

“Get me out!”

“Calm down.  Listen to me.” I struggle to remain here with him and not get lost in the fear.  He pauses and tilts his head to the side.  He draws his sword with a loud curse and he turns, blocking the gate with his back.  

Footsteps echo loudly as a handful of heavily armored people rush in.  What is this? Who are these people?

“Silver Hand,” Farkas snarls and crouches defensively.

“A Companion,” a female sneers.  “I don’t recognize you.”

“Doesn’t matter if you recognize him or not,” another circles around.  “He wears the armor. He is one of _them_. We kill them all.”

“Drop your weapon, dog,” one spits at him.

I whimper.  “Farkas?” My voice is barely a whisper but he glances back once at me.

“Stay calm,” he says and turns back to the others.  “I should have known the Silver Hand would be here to thieve what isn’t theirs.”

“Stand down, filth!”

“I guess there is no choice,” Farkas sounds annoyed and drops his weapon.  He is surrounded, but one against five is not bad odds for a Companion.  Why did he drop his weapon?  He could still fight.  If only I could get out of here, I would fight by his side!

I throw myself backwards at the vicious snarling that comes from my Shield Brother.  His whole frame shakes violently.  Something horrific is happening, his body rocking and bucking, growing in size.  Dark fur covers his body and his fingers grow long and sharp.  The special armor he wears turns translucent and fades entirely, leaving only a beast underneath.  Farkas is no longer in front of me, only a towering wolfish creature.  He stands on two legs and howls loud enough to shake the stones around me.  A werewolf.

“Kill the wolf!” one shouts and they all rush him.

I scream his name as swords aim to fatally pierce his body and I rush forward to push into the gate.  Shaking the metal furiously, I want to rip the bars free and fight.  But then, would I be fighting alongside Farkas or against him?  The beast swipes, blood splattering noisily against the stones.  These Silver Hands fall easily beneath the strength and ferocity of the wolf in front of me.  

The last attacker is an orc and he circles the werewolf with more care than his dead companions, but it does not matter.  He is small compared to the beast.  I cannot make out his words, but catch the taunting lilt of his tone.  The beast snarls darkly and springs forward.  He lands on the orc’s chest, bones crunching loudly.  I pull my knees up to my chest and tuck my face between them, covering my ears to shut out the screaming and squelching as the beast feeds.

The death cries turn silent and I lift my head a little.  There is only the heavy breathing of the werewolf.  He steps slowly towards me, panting and dripping dark blood from his lips.  I am terrified, there is no disguising that, but the intrigue pushes up in my chest.  Does he know me while in this form?

I stand slowly and move closer to the gate.  “Farkas?” My hands are still shaking as I grip the bars of the gate.  He huffs loudly and his eyes flicker over me, feral and wild.  What will he do?  He slowly steps forward again and his giant clawed paw reaches up to brush my fingers away from the gate.  The pads under his claws are leathery, but the fur is coarse and tickles my fingers.  I pull my hands back, but I do not step away.  

The paws grip the metal and tug, but it does not budge.  He growls in what I think is irritation and he tugs harder, snuffling and snarling when the gate stays locked.  If a werewolf in all his strength can’t lift the gate, will I ever get out of here? I am trapped, locked in a cage to die. I collapse to my knees again feeling completely hopeless and the tears slip out.  Farkas keens loudly and turns his eye towards me watching my distress.  Suddenly, he sniffs the air and turns away, running through the newly opened gate.  I call out to him frantically.  Please don’t leave me here! Get me out!

My ears strain to hear his movements.  The animal grunts give way to a pained but very human groan.  “It has to be here. Where is it?”

Loud clanking echoes between the chambers and the gate begins to pull up.  My breath hitches in my throat and I watch almost disbelieving as the metal bars rise to offer me freedom.  Farkas stumbles back into the room and smiles a little at the sight and I scurry forward out of my prison.  Without thinking, I throw myself into his arms and he catches me with a tiny huff.

“Hey, it’s alright. I got you.” He holds tight until my shaking has stopped.  Only then do I realize that he is once again clothed in his armor.  It must be some kind of enchanted piece, I can only guess.  “I hope I didn't scare you,” he grins wryly and pulls back to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

“Farkas.” I stare at him sternly.  He looks at me with brows raised, prepared for whatever I will tell him.  I don’t speak.  Instead, I pull my fist back and punch him squarely in the jaw.

“Ow! Mara’s grace! My beautiful face! What in Oblivion was that for, Amora?” He clutches his face and glares at me, wriggling his jaw back.

“That was for terrifying me near to death!” I shout at him and the kick him in the leg.  “And that is for leaving me in that place and taking on all those bastards by yourself!”

He snorts.  “A handful of poorly trained cultists are no big deal.”

“I was worried for you, okay?” I start pacing and throwing random punches at whatever body part I can find on him.  “Vilkas told me to bring you back in one piece!  He would kill me if you got hurt! Plus this is _my_ Trial, so _I_ should be doing the ass-kicking around here! And how are you a werewolf? Does everyone know about his except me? Does everyone in Jorrvaskr just sprout fur each night and I have no idea about this? Farkas! I am so mad at you!”

I wear myself out with my shouting and flailing and sit down hard on a stone bench.  Farkas still rubs his sore jaw, but he isn’t angry.  No, he looks far too amused with himself.  “Well, if there are any more of those Silver Hand cultists in here, they are sure to have heard you by now, so I am sure you will have plenty of opportunity to do your share of ‘ass-kicking’ as you put it.  No, not everyone has the Gift, only those within the Circle.  And I understand your anger.  I am sorry I scared you.”  He grows serious.  “Are you alright?”

I take a deep breath and relax my shoulders.  “Yes.  I will be fine.”

He studies me thoughtfully for a moment.  “Are you claustrophobic?”

“Such a big word for you,” I sigh part in teasing and part from the adrenaline crash.

“Oh, shut up,” he rolls his eyes and gets me to stand.

“I am not afraid of small spaces.  I am afraid of cages.  And chains.”

“We all have something,” he shrugs and does not judge me.  “I am terrified of spiders.”

“Really?” We move into the next series of hallways, not bothering to be quiet since I have basically announced to the entire barrow that we are here.

“Yeah.  Vilkas has to take care of them for me.  When I was little, there was this boy in town...”

He talks incessantly for the next little while, explaining why his fear is a valid one and how it doesn't make him any less of a warrior.  He only stops talking when we have to take care of the few pairs of Silver Hand we come across, but he picks right back up again when we are alone.

“Hey, this looks promising,” he beams when we reach a chamber larger than the others.  Coffins line the wall and lead to a raised platform.

“Oh no.” I am disheartened by what I see at the far end of the chamber.  A giant wall with familiar looking engraved symbols.

Farkas is at my side in an instant.  “What’s wrong?”

My feet drag us forward and we move to that end of the chamber as the rest is all coffins with no obvious sign of what we are looking for.  “Farkas,” I struggle to keep it together as the drumming begins to grow louder in my head.  “I would never judge you for your Gift, you know that right?”

“Yes...” He is watching me warily, refusing to release my arm.

“Don’t judge me please.”

I grunt from the effort of resisting the call for so long and finally give in.  My mind opens and I let the word fill me, the tickling making me shiver.  Fire.  My body fills with a strange heat as though the very essence of the word is carving itself into my soul.  The voices continue their assault until I swear I will never forget the word.  Finally it lets up and I am unsteady on my feet.

Farkas is no longer holding my arm.  He is standing behind me with his sword drawn, every muscle tense.  “I will be asking you about that later.  Right now, we have a problem.”

I turn around completely and see our problem.  Drauger.  The biggest drauger I have seen yet exit their coffins and begin to bang their shield and scream at us.  My sword is drawn and at the ready in an instant, and as I glance around at our situation, I notice something.

“On the table.  Is that it?” 

Farkas takes a step forward.  “Ysmir’s beard, it is!  Grab it and make for the door.”

Without questioning him, I launch myself forward and snag the fragment and twist myself through the undead, slamming into the closed wooden door.  “No good!” I shout to Farkas who is fighting his way to me.  “It is jammed! We have to find a different way out!”

I back up against the door and he joins me, slicing through another body.  “There!” he points to a wooden ramp and second floor area.  There just might be a way out up there, but we have to live to get there first.  I stuff the fragment into Farkas’s pack and tell him not to lose it.

Readjusting my grip, I raise my sword.  It seems like the drauger are more interested in Farkas at the moment and I am able to scoot of to the side and cut the legs out from one of them before plunging the tip of my blade into the creature’s heart.  Being much more experienced and simply a better fighter than me, Farkas manages to take down nearly twice as many as I do.

I clear the path towards the ramp, but these undead just keep coming.  Logically, I know there are only as many as there are coffins, but it seems unending.  The moment one falls, another takes its place.  We back up the ramp, forcing the drauger to push each other over to reach us.  They are easier to deal with one at a time and we make it up the ramp.  

I barely catch the sound before an axe comes swinging at me.  Whirling around, there are three larger drauger up here with us.  I thrust my sword up to block the next blow and I feel the brunt of it through my bones. Farkas grunts loudly behind me but I cannot turn to him just yet.  I raise my foot and kick the drauger away, giving me enough time to strike out at his neck and remove his head.  

Farkas is on the ground with an undead hovering over him screaming down.  My Shield Brother shoves his blade up and spears the creature through the chest.  I spin and slice through its body helping to throw it off of my friend.  There is one more and Farkas is not moving to get up, leaving me to handle it alone. 

The drauger leans forward, shouting unintelligible words at me. I shove my leg at its chest and it slams back into the coffin.  The back of the coffin falls through and I follow after the undead.  I crash into its body and press my knee into its throat to keep it still.  It takes one good thrust to force it into final rest.

There is a path here in the back of the coffin and it could very well lead to a way out.  It is a chance we have to take and I rush back to grab Farkas.  He is moaning painfully and clutching his chest in agony.  

“Come on, Farkas,” I grab his bag, tucking his and mine on my front, and heave him over my back.  “We have got to get out of here.  Only the dead are allowed in here and I am not letting that include you.”

He tries to laugh but it turns into a pained cry.  It is too hard to carry him and everything else.  I throw my pack away, it only had rations and a bedroll anyway, and readjust him.  One slow step after another, I trudge up the hall.  I focus only on the next step and none too soon, I can smell clean snow.

I find a safe place for us to tuck into and see the sun beginning to set.  Farkas is unusually quiet and I watch him slump over. 

“No! No no no no, Farkas don’t you dare!” 

I roll him onto his back and check his pulse.  It is weak, but steady.  I struggle with his armor.  The leather is slick with blood and the buckles refuse to open for me without a fight.  When I finally am able to see the wound, it is a deep stab into the soft juncture between his shoulder and chest under his collar bone.  I press down hard on it to stop the blood from spilling out any further and he grunts loudly, hands grabbing onto my arms in pain.

All I know to do is pray.  Every Divine I can think of, any ancient power I can call on, I do.  Don’t let Farkas die.  Tell me what I need to do.  Please, not like this.  I need to fix this, I need to heal him somehow.  Trying to keep pressure on his wound, I search the pack for any potion I can find.  There is only a swallow left of the phosphorus pink healing potion but I force it past his lips.  It is not enough, I already know it is not enough.

I don’t know what else to do, but I am desperate to make this better.  My hands begin to glow, golden white light swirling around my palms.  I feel it pulling from my core, but I do not move.  Whatever it is, I know it will help.  A gut instinct, I suppose, but I do not lift my hands from Farkas’s chest.  The light flows into him, sparking and threading his body back together. It gets harder to breathe and I have to blink hard to keep focus.

He turns his head and lifts a hand to cover mine.  “Stop,” he whispers. “Enough.”

The light flickers and putters out and I slouch over him, every part of me aching. “Talk to me.”

“I am tired.” He chuckles dryly and I offer what little water we have.

“Me too.”

He blinks slowly and watches me stuff snow into our canteen and press it between my legs to warm it up enough to melt into water.  “I didn’t know you could do magic.”

“It just happened,” I look away.  I don’t want him hate me for it.  “My mother told me I could when I was a child, but I didn’t give it much notice.  I am not overly fond of magic.”

“But you healed me,” he reaches over and takes my hand with the shadow of a smile.  It is enough for now and I watch over him for many long hours as the sun sets and the moon rises.


	6. The Gift

Farkas and I cover only a little ground each day.  He grows tired far too easily, and I let him stop and rest often.  Whatever healing I can offer him, I do, but it leaves me feeling hollow inside, like a dried out well. What should have taken us two days at most has stretched into five days before we see the familiar windmills lazily stroking the sky.

One of the stable boys just outside of the city gates sees us stumbling along and races into town and less than a half hour later, Vilkas is running down the path.  He is pressed close to his brother in an instant, hands fluttering over the bandages I attempted and whispering words too low for me to hear.  

“Take the shard to Kodlak and clean up,” Vilkas says sharply.  “I will help my brother back to the Hall.”

“Give me the extra gear,” I motion to the two of them.  Farkas had insisted on caring his own armor and weapons but now that we are within the city limits, he wouldn’t need them. Vilkas helps to strip the unnecessary heavy steel off of him and I turn into a pack mule hauling everything up to the Hall.

A few cheery shouts greet me and I wave.  Eorlund takes Farkas’s gear for repairs, but doesn't ask me how it went.  Skjor is the one to come up and ask if we are successful and where the twins are.  At the news that Farkas was injured, Skjor frowns and leaves immediately.  There is a sinking feeling in my chest and I am sure that I have failed, even though I have the fragment of Wuuthrad and we are both alive.

“Come sit,” Kodlak directs me to a chair in his chambers and fills a plate and cup for me.  “Tell me everything.”

I explain briefly what had happened, my posture slouched and tone defeated.  To my surprise, Kodlak laughs and takes the fragment to flip it in his fingers.

“Sounds like quite the adventure. I am sure Farkas will be fine.  If he is moving on his own, he will make it.”

“Vilkas and Skjor both looked worried and I don't know how badly I patched him up.” I need reassurance that I didn’t do horribly and my mentor seems to understand.

“Vilkas and Farkas have a strange connection that none of us comprehend.  Vilkas is only worried for his brother, but he would express the same worry whether he sliced a finger, or lost a leg.  And Skjor has a sour temperament all the time.  It is nothing personal, he has seen too many hard times.  Why don’t you wash and rest and I will speak to the others about your Trial?”

I don’t move to get up and Kodlak doesn't stand.  He waits patiently for me to speak.  When I do, it is only a hushed whisper and filled with all my insecurities and fears.  “What if I really am the Dragonborn?”  

“Well...” He leans back in his chair and thinks it over.  “I think it would be our great honor to have the Dragonborn among our ranks. It would mean you have other duties and responsibilities outside our Hall, and we will have to make do without you here sometimes.  But I think it would be quite the adventure for you.”

“But it also means I will have to learn magic, and everyone here hates magic.  Even though I only used it to try and heal Farkas, I know how much everyone distrusts it.”

“Being Dragonborn and being a mage are two very different things,” Kodlak looks at me seriously.  “Conjuring atronachs and raising the dead like mages do, that is not the type of magic we like.  But using the Voice, the Old Magic, fighting a dragon face to face with his own power, that is a battle I can support.  The others will feel the same.  There is honor and glory worthy of Sovngarde being the Dragonborn.”

He looks so at ease, so certain, and I can place my trust in him.  I have grown to love these people, my new chosen family.  And it seems that it will not be a hinderance if I am what the Jarl and the soldiers say I am.

“I must confer with the others in the Circle now.” Kodlak stands and smiles.  “Go rest and we will discuss your situation.”

I clean up and try to rest, but sleep does not come easy, despite the exhaustion in my muscles.  Ria and Athis try to cheer me up with tales of their Trials, but it is no comfort.  Eventually, they move off into the main hall and join the festivities.  Boisterous cheers and laughter filter in through the door, but I have no desire to join them.  Instead, the evening passes in muffled quiet.  

The next day dawns and I do not feel any more encouraged than I did before.  There is a weight on my chest.  I know I have to make the journey to High Hrothgar soon, but I don’t want to leave my family here.  Perhaps when they tell me I have failed my Trial, then I will excuse myself for a while.  Kodlak will surely understand.

He and the other members of the Circle, Aela and Skjor and the twins, are not seen all day.  Occasionally I can hear their voices around Skyforge, sometimes arguing, sometimes laughing, but they never appear.  Instead, I clean my armor and check my weapons as I was taught.  The afternoon is spent going through my forms in the training yard and trying not to think of the secret burdens of my heart.

“Amora,” Eorlund calls down to me from the forge.  “Go clean up and then come up here.  There is something I need to show you.”

I move quickly, wiping myself down and tugging on my cleanest frock and light hide armor.  No one is in the hall except for Tilda and Brill, making it eerily quiet.  The sun has already set as I dash up the stairs two at a time towards the forge.  Hot coals and occasional flames are the only light up here and I realize that I am in big trouble.

All the members of Circle are standing in front of the forge.  Aela looks bored with her arms crossed and Skjor scowls beside her.  Farkas leans heavily on Vilkas with a big smile on, but Vilkas is devoid of all expression.  Kodlak stands with Eorlund in the middle of them all looking serious and calm.  Ria, Torvar, Athis and Njada are seated on the wall whispering between themselves and Vignar, the eldest among us, takes a seat in a chair near them.  My whole family is gathered.

“Amora Whitehart,” Kodlak beckons me forward and a slow smile creeps along his lips.  “Step forward.”

I am going to be kicked out, I know I am.  It doesn't matter that Farkas is grinning like a fool, or that Kodlak’s eyes are pleased.  I think the worst and shuffle forward hesitantly.  He places me at his side, across from the twins.

“Brothers and Sisters of the Circle,” Kodlak addresses everyone, “and Companions of our Hall, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal hold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has showed her valor. Who will speak for her?”

Farkas stands taller, loosening his hold on his twin. “I stand witness for the courage of the soul before us.”  He beams at me and the tension in my chest loosens with each following word.

Kodlak continues, looking between Farkas and me. “Would you raise your shield in her defense?”

“I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us.”

“And would you raise your sword in her honor?”

Farkas stares at me intensely, “It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes.”

“And would you raise a mug in her name?”

“I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories.”

“That would be a shame,” Tarvar shouts.  “Farkas is no bard.”  The others laugh and Farkas makes an obscene gesture at his tormenter in good fun.

“Then the judgment of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with the fury and courage that has united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”

Everyone shouts and cheers in unison. “It shall be so!”

I stand there in shock for long moments as the others whoop and laugh loudly.  One by one, they come up and congratulate me and head into the Hall where there is a great feast waiting.  Only when the members of Circle are left do I get nervous.

“Well done, Shield Sister,” Aela hugs my side.  “I look forward to a good hunt with you.”

Kodlak gives her a stern warning using only her name and she waves him off heading towards the Hall.  Skjor follows with a short “congrats” but he has never been one for words.  

“We will meet you inside,” Kodlak smiles and hugs me tightly.  “You are one of us now, my lass.  I am proud.”

Left with only the twins, I turn to them sheepishly.  Farkas lifts me up an a tight hug and swings me around once laughing brightly.

“Let her go, you fool.  You are still unwell,” Vilkas frowns at his brother and smacks him in the head.

Farkas sets me gently on my feet but he does not move away.  “You thought you weren't going to make it, didn't you?”

“I had serious doubts.  In fact, I was pretty sure I was called up here to be formally kicked out for letting you get hurt.” I stepped back and tugged nervously on my braids.

Vilkas snorts.  “It was this troll brain who got himself hurt.  There was no doubt you would be brought in officially.”  He does not grin as brightly as his brother, but his smile is there nonetheless and he gives me a hug. Relief and joy bubble in my chest and I beam.  Snagging them both in a tight hug, I whisper my thanks and they laugh.

“Those were only the formalities,” Farkas says and the twins look at each other mischievously.  “The true test is to see if you survive the night.  Come! We revel!”

True to his word, the night passes on in hard celebration.  Mead and ale is passed around in excess, much to Torvar’s delight.  Tilda and Brill continually bring in fresh platters of food and the guards come to tell us to tone it down.  Instead of complying, Aela and Vignar invite them to feast with us and they join in the celebrations.  Only when the twins refuse to stop singing Ragnar the Red in terrible harmony, and Njada begins stripping down on the tables, do we call it a night.

Thankfully, I had excused myself from drinking nearly as much as the others and manage to wake before midday.  Tilda has the main hall cleaned already, potions at the ready for those whose headaches do not cease.  The people in the town complain fondly over the noise we made.  Apparently the Companions have a name for spending as much time in the bottle as we do in battle, but we are known to be honorable so it does not affect us badly.

The others are resting and I accept the urgent job to go take care of a single giant too close to the city, returning victoriously before nightfall.  When I return, Kodlak and Aela are arguing again.  It has been getting worse in the past few weeks and I fear they are at a breaking point.  Aela shoots me a dark look before storming out declaring that she is going on a hunt.  When Kodlak sighs and heavily drops into a chair, I join him.

“Are you alright?” I wonder and grab at the food.

He rubs his face and then accepts the plate I made for him.  “It will be fine.  Aela is just...never mind.”  He seems hesitant to explain, but I am curious.

“Does this have something to do with the werewolf thing?” I ask, watching him as I take a bite.  His expression doesn’t falter, but eventually he turns to me.

“You have been allowed to know some secrets before your appointed time.”  He doesn’t sound angry, only weary.  “But yes, it does have to do with the werewolf thing.  I wish Farkas was more cautious with you, but I guess there was a good reason for his actions.”

“Farkas said only the members of Circle were wolves.”

“That is true, we are the only ones to share the blood of the beast.  Some take to it more than others.  Aela is at peace with her beast, and wants us to share the gift with the rest.”

“But you don’t?”

“Well, I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon, to Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an animal warrior as he would a true Nord warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric lord, Hircine. Some may prefer eternity in his hunting grounds, Aela would no doubt, but I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde.  How can I doom others to that which I do not want myself?”

“That is what all the arguing is about here?  Aela wants others to use the beast blood, and you want to spare them.”

“Yes.  If I could, I would take this curse from us all.”

“Is there a cure?”

“Yes, but it’s no easy matter.” Hope blooms on his face and then quickly disappears. “But you don’t need to share the worries of an old warrior.”  Something distracts him and he moves to stand.  “Celebrate these joyous days, lass.”

I watch him head down the stairs and then take my dirtied plate to the kitchens.  Tilda works far too hard on her own so I help where I can.  To my surprise, Skjor is waiting there.  His arms are folded and his eyes are dark and brooding, but he seems calm enough.

“I have a job for you,” he growls out.

I raise my brow.  “Is it urgent?”

“Yes.  Meet me at the Underforge in an hour.”

He moves off and I am left to stare after him.  Usually, he is more upfront about the tasks we are given, but this seems to strange.  Wait.  I do not know where the Underforge is.  

“Vilkas!” I call out to him as he passes by and he stops short, backing up to see me in the kitchens.  

“Yeah?”  He stares at me blankly.

“Where is the Underforge?”

His eyes grow dark immediately.  “Why do you ask?”

“Skjor told me to meet him there in an hour.  I have no idea where that is.”

Vilkas sighs and rubs his eyes while shaking his head.  He moves up closer to talk quietly. “I didn’t think he would work so fast.  The Underforge is hidden beneath Skyforge, behind a secret door.  You will see it.  But Amora...”  He seems hesitant.  “Really truly think about it before you decide.”

“Decide what?”

“You will see.  Just promise me, you will think about it.  Don’t do it or not do it just because the others tell you to.  Think about it.”  I nod and he doesn't look reassured.  Instead his brow stays wrinkled and he looks lost in thought.  “I need to speak to someone, excuse me.”

I pack my things, ready for whatever journey Skjor will insist upon, and leave them at the entrance to the hall.   I notice the twins watching me, but they do not say anything, too wrapped up in their own conversation.  I walk around the lower level of Skyforge, my fingers running over the stone.  A secret door...somewhere hidden here.

I tilt my head towards the rock.  Snarling, growling comes from between the cracks here and I push the fissures open.  Sure enough, the rocks gives way to a small cavern.  Immediately, I freeze.  Standing in front of a central basin is a large werewolf.  Black fur, long snout, it huffs loudly and narrows its eyes at me.

“You came.”  Skjor almost sounds surprised.  “I thought for sure the others would have talked you out of it.”

“What is going on?” I scoot around, my back against the wall to remain as far from the beast that Skjor seems to not care about.

“It's been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers. That pitiful ceremony last night does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honor than some calls and feasting.”

“It seemed to be fine.  Skjor... the wolf...” I never take my eyes off the beast in the room who only snuffles and huffs.

The man scoffs.  “I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form. She's agreed to be your forebear.”

“My...forebear.  She is going to give me the curse?”

His eyes widen.  “Curse? We called you here to do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted. Only he thinks we've been cursed. We've been blessed by Hircine, _blessed_ not cursed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse? To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf.”

“And if I cannot accept it?” I try not to let the anxiety of this seep into my voice.

Skjor drops his arms and leans back against the wall.  “That is your choice. We will not force you. But to join the Circle, your blood must be as ours.”

“The Circle?” My eyes go wide.  “I didn’t expect to become a member of the Circle so soon.  I mean, I was only just initiated.”

He laughs and Aela the wolf snorts.  “We have been watching you since you arrived.  You have all the traits of a warrior we would ask to join us.  The only contingency is that you join your spirit with the beast. No mere foot soldier can be counted among us.”

This must be what Vilkas meant.  Think about it.  Do I accept the burden of the wolf blood and become a full member of the Circle, or do I step away and potentially lose out on a piece of my fate?  If I am meant to do something, it must be done to the end.  That was a truth my father instilled in me.  Once my feet are set on a path, I must see it through, despite the consequences.

“Will you accept?”  It is the most gentle I have ever heard his voice.

“Alright,” I sigh.  “What must I do?”

Skjor looks at Aela for a quiet moment.  She shuffles forward and raises her arm over the small basin and Skjor slices her wrist quickly.  The snarl she directs at him is terrifying and sends chills along my arms and down my spine.  When the basin is partially filled, he wraps her arm gently and I notice it then- the sweetness, even in these separate forms, is undeniable.  They really must be together.

“The blood calls, Sister, and waits for you to drink from the fountain.”  

I hold my breath and accept the glass goblet filled with Aela’s blood.  Sour, beyond sour, it slides past my tongue.  I choke on it, coughing, and hear the two chuckle.  How is this funny?  Did something go wrong and I am dying?  My head swims, the room spinning.  The ceiling slides into view just before everything goes black.

*

_“Stop right there! Oh sweet Oblivion, what is that?!” The guard draws his sword and I see it shaking.  He seems so small in comparison, I tower over him.  He screams. “Stand down!”_

_Stand down? I have no intent to harm him.  I want to tell him that everything is fine, but what comes from my lips is only a growl.  He trembles violently and takes a swing at me.  The sword slices open my arm and I howl in pain.  Pushing him aside harshly, I slink away, my legs carrying me faster than normal.  He does not interest me and a delicious scent catches my nose._

_I dig my toes into the ground and fly out of the city, quickly passing the scenery.  Running for what must be hours, I feel invigorated.  My body is strong and energized.  My mind is a bit foggy, but when I catch sight of a buck off in the distance, I am focused.  Prey, that is my only thought and I launch my body after it._

_Blood, warm and sweet drips down my chin as my fingers claw deeper into the muscle of my reward.  I breathe in the aroma of meat and victory, tasting my meal with joy.  And then things fade once more._

_*_

“Wow,” Aela laughs as she stands over me.  “This looks messy.  Amora?”

I only groan in response.  My head is still pounding and the metallic taste in my mouth is gross.

She crouches by my side, the laughter gone.  “Are you awake? I was starting to think you might never come back. Yours was not an easy transformation.”

“What happened?” I roll over and clutch my head, covering my eyes from the bright sunlight.

“You were born into the pack, Sister. I almost envy you. That first time is always the most intense. You gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning. Skjor and I tracked you for hours before we could catch up.”

“I am a werewolf now?”

She smiles and brushes my hair back as I inspect my hands.  I am covered in blood, all over my hands and arms, on my face and down my chest.  Stark naked, I wonder how long I have been like this.

“You have the blood of the wolf in you. You'll need to build up your strength before you can call on it again, though.  Just be careful where you do it. Some cowards in this land can't stand the sight of glory before them.  You scared that guard to death.”

“I didn’t kill him, did I?” I sit up in a panic.

Aela laughs.  “No, the poor sod is still alive.  He will be fine.  You managed to get out of the city and come hunting in the wild as a true wolf does.”  She looks proud.  “Can you stand?”

My feet are unsteady but manage to hold me up.  “Where are we?”

“Way out from the city.  We have a job do to, and Skjor's already scouting ahead.  I brought your things.”  

She motions to the pack I put together earlier and I am grateful.  There is a stream close by and I am able to get the worst of the dried red from my skin.  Aela waits patiently off to the side until I am dressed and ready.

“What is the job?”

Her eyes narrow in suppressed rage.  “There's a pack of werewolf hunters camped nearby, at Gallows Rock, the Silver Hand. I think you've met them before.  We're going to slaughter them.  All of them.”

My heart is beating quicker, just the thought of having to potentially call on this new gift again is both exhilarating and terrifying.  If Aela can hear my frantic pulse, she makes no mention of it.  Strength returns to my limbs the further we walk and by the time the fort comes into view, I feel back to normal.

But then, I see the entrance.  Spikes are neatly packed into the ground around the door, and resting on them are wolf heads.  Aela snarls viciously and I lose control.

*

_My body is warm, warmer than it should be, heated and pulsing from the inside out.  I know the human by my side is my Shield Sister, her blood a sweet comfort to my sensitive nose.  She walks beside me, sword drawn and fire in her eyes.  My instincts follow her movements, rage fueling my actions.  The bodies easily fall beneath my clawed fingers, blood pouring over the fur._

_“Feed,” she tells me.  “It will make you stronger.”_

_The next man to cross my path, sword drawn and terrified screaming, is silenced beneath my powerful bite.  The flesh is warm, but the blood tastes sour and I cringe away from it.  I am panting as we move along the halls.  Red coats my hazy vision and all I focus on is the twists and turns of the stone halls, and smell of humans further ahead._

_“I smell her,” Aela says and my head whips her direction.  She looks up at me once and then pushes the door open.  “Krev the Skinner.”_

_The Silver Hands in the room rise quickly, weapons drawn.  They are faceless to me, simply warm bodies to sink my teeth in.  They murmur angrily to themselves and shift uneasily and one stands out among them._

_“Aela the Huntress,” the human says.  “We meet again.”_

_“For the last time,” Aela growls and I feel the beast in her crawl to get out.  I let out a low snarl and pace behind her, searching for the best spot to attack._

_“You will fair no better than your other attack dog,” Krev sneers and points her sword to a body lying dead on the table.  With one sniff, I recognize my Shield Brother.  Skjor looks as though he has been defiled and I feel the horror ripple through Aela._

_A pained cry, filled with anger and agony, rips from my Sister and she rushes forward.  She cannot protect herself from everyone, and I launch forward.  Bloodlust, rage fueled by the need to feed and destroy, fills my body.  My claws tear at muscle and bone, my teeth rip against throats, blood mats against my fur._

_When nothing else in the room moves, the bloodlust subsides.  Aela is on her knees by the table, clutching the hand of the man there.  She lets out a ferocious howl and I whimper in return.  Slowly, cautiously, I approach.  She makes no move to push me away and I prod her with my nose, keening lightly._

_I remain at her side, whining softly at the loss of our Brother._

_*_

I blink and slowly move my limbs.  Aela has placed my head on her lap and is staring blankly at the room.  Once again, I am naked, the cold air on my skin making me shiver.

“You are back,” she says, voice hoarse.  I must have been out for a long while.

Sitting up is a chore again, but I manage.  I gratefully drink from the canteen she offers and pointedly ignore the rest of the room.  I don't want to look, but I can’t help but be sure.  My fingers gently brush Skjor’s hand as it lays limply off the table. It is cold, not icy but not the usual warmth of the living.

Aela watches me, unmoving.  Tears cut tracks down the war paint on her cheeks, but there is silence between us for long moments.

“What do we do now?” I whisper, afraid that anything louder will break her.

Her voice is ragged, but determined, and it allows strength to return to me.  “You must go to Jorrvaskr and report back.  I will take care of things here.”

I nod, but the weight settles into my chest.  I have to be the one to deliver the news.  The strongest of us was killed.  How do I do this? How can I face the others?  I failed. I failed Skjor and I failed the Companions.  But Aela will not leave his side and there is no other bearer of news to return to the hall.

Bodies lay broken throughout the fort as I make my way back to the entrance.  The more I see, flesh shredded in a beastial haze, the more my stomach rolls.  The taste of blood was tolerable while in beast form, but now, just the stench has me clutching my stomach.  Racing ahead to the outside, I make it just in time to relieve my insides in a bush just out the door.  The smell makes me dizzy and all I feel is blood and flesh and filth.

I cannot do this again, I know I can’t.  Waking up covered in blood, vomiting red after every change, knowing that it was me that desecrated those people inside, this is not what I thought it would be.  I will never admit it to Aela, especially now, but I doubt I will ever call on this gift ever again if I can help it.  Whatever it takes, I will not wake to feel like this again.

The bite of ice and snow on my skin is a welcome distraction as I scrub myself clean and grab our things by the door.  The walk home is far too long for my weary heart.


	7. The Greybeards

My feet are heavy coming up the stairs to the hall.  I can hear laughter and talking inside and I hesitate, my hand on the wood but not pushing.  Not the front, I think.  It would be better to come in through the back entrance, to not announce my failure so suddenly.

Stepping inside, the heat is a welcome sensation, but it does not allow my shoulders to release the tension knotted there.  Vilkas is standing right in front of me, a surprised look on his face.

“Amora,” he looks me up and down.  “You have returned.”

I nod, but no words come out.

“Are you alright?” He tilts my chin up and sees the hollowness in my eyes.  “Aela?”

“She is alive,” my voice breaks on the last word.

“And Skjor?”

I shake my head and pull away.  “I must speak to Kodlak.”  I cannot face anyone else.  My body screams at me to run, to hide from the shame of not being able to protect my Brother.

Vilkas calls after me, but I am already tripping down the stairs.  The weight of everything becomes too much and I collapse, dropping my pack, and the extra things Aela had left for me to bring back.  A strong hand grips my arm and lifts me up, pulling me gently to the far end of the hall.

“Sit, child.”  It is Kodlak and his voice is stern, but calm.  He pulls his chair forward so that we are face to face, knees just barely brushing.  “Tell me what happened.”

I shake my head, distraught.  How can I say the words aloud?  But I look up once and everything spills out- why I accepted the gift, my first change, everything that happened at the fort, the pain, the terror, the sickness, death.

“So it is true,” Kodlak hangs his head.  “Skjor is dead.  We felt it happen, but couldn't be sure.”

“I am sorry,” I sob.  “I am so sorry!”

I am wrapped in heavy arms, my cheek pressed against the steel of his chest plate. “Hush, lass.  This is not your fault.”

“But it is! I was not prepared, and I could not protect my Shield Brother.”

He grips my chin in a firm hand.  “Skjor made the mistake of proceeding alone.  If he had you by his side, he would have lived.  This is not a burden you need to bear, child.”

I want to believe him, but I still feel at fault.  Exhaustion pulls at me and he lets me go.

“Rest and grieve in whatever way you need to.  I must tell the others.”

He doesn't leave right away though, and sits in silence with me for a while longer.  When my eyes struggle to stay open, I drag myself to my bed and fall in without a second thought.  Sleep is not restful, broken fragments of dreams woven between memories make it hard to feel better when I finally haul myself up.

I notice it immediately, the change in the hall.  The near silence is deafening.  Tilda brings me food when I sit in the main hall, but no one speaks to me.  In the far corner, the twins are huddled together.  The others are scattered around and no one even looks in my direction.  Guilt fills me and I cannot stand it.  I cannot stay here any more.

No one cares when I pack my things and slip out the back.  I make my rounds among the shops, selling whatever I don't want.  It is Ulfberth at the armory who really takes notice.

“I won't ask, lass,” he gives me an encouraging smile.  “But I think you could use a strong drink and friend.”

I nod.  “Yes, I think so.”

He gives me a better deal that he normally would and when I stop to take count, I realize I have enough to purchase a house in the city.  Ulfberth agrees to let me stash my bags behind his counter while I race up to Dragonsreach.  This could not have come at a better time and the distraction is good for my mind.

Proventus looks me over with a strange curl of his lip, but when I mention purchasing a home here, he immediately becomes more friendly.  He is thorough in counting out every single coin and when he is satisfied, he takes his time writing out my title and handing over the keys.

“As Thane, you are entitled to a house carl.  The Jarl has assigned Lydia to be yours.  Shall I send her over?”

“Thank you,” I nod and fold the title to my new home carefully.

I don’t really understand the point of a house carl, but I am not about to say that to this man.  The rest of the day is spent moving my things into the property.  Ulfberth tells me to meet him at the Inn when I am done and I wave.  

Lydia is standing at the front door when I carry the last of my things in.  “Good day, my Thane.  I am Lydia.”

“Hello.”  She towers over me a little, wearing full steel armor as though she were going into battle.

“The Jarl has assigned me to be your house carl.  Whatever you need, I can do.  I am trained in battle, as well as keeping a home well equipped.”

“I appreciate that.  For now, I guess, just settle in.  I have somewhere to be, but I could use help in cleaning the place up.”

Lydia nods and helps carry in the things that are piled by the door.  We discuss sleeping arrangements and expectations and she seems satisfied with the situation.

“Do you like going out and fighting?” I ask as she sweeps the front hall.

“To be honest, not really.  If you need a companion on your travels, I will accompany you of course.  But I was better trained at city living.”  She smiles a little guiltily, but I wave it away.

“I like your honesty.  I do need someone to stay here to take care of things, so I think it will be helpful for both of us.”

After a while, I leave to head to the Inn.  Ulfberth is tucked into the corner and pulls out a chair for me.  He isn’t alone, a burly Nord woman is sitting with him, her face hidden in a mug.

“Amora, I am so glad you came.  This is Uthgerd.”

I glance at her as Ulfberth steps away to get drinks.  She is glaring at me fiercely.  “Yes?”

“You are the new member of the Companions, they let you into the Circle I hear.”  It sounds like an accusation.  To me, it is a punch in gut.  Thankfully Ulfberth comes back and I am given a drink to bury myself in.

“Give it a rest, Uthgerd,” the man shakes his head.

“No,” she growls.  “What does this little milk-drinker have that I don’t?”

“Self restraint.”

Uthgerd slams her mug on the table.  “I was not myself. I told them over and over that it was an accident! They wanted me to prove my worth, so they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. I guess they thought a woman wasn't strong enough to hurt him. I didn't mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just lost control.”

“That’s all it takes,” I murmur more to myself, but it was heard.

“Think you can go blade to blade with me?” She moves to the edge of her seat expectantly.  “You’d be dead in six seconds.”

I scoff as she continually contradicts herself, talking about self control and proving she has very little of it.  She has no idea the burdens of my heart, and a good honest fight seems like a perfect way to release the pent up tension that hasn’t left my body.  But I don’t want to lose control like before.  “You aren’t worth it.”

Ulfberth laughs loudly and she looks offended.  “How about a hundred gold I knock your ass to the ground?”

“I don’t have that much on me.  I just bought a house.”

“I will front your share,” Ulfberth offers.  I raise my brows at him and he beams.  “What? I am certain you can hold your own.”

“Fine,” I sigh.  “But fists only.  No weapons, no magic, and no crying when I win.”

Uthgerd smirks and sets her drink down, making a big show of removing her weapons.  I can’t help but rolling my eyes.  All I am carrying right now is a single sword and Ulfberth takes it with a wink.

“Let’s go!” she calls to me and holds her fists up.

I hear grumbling from Hulda at the bar, and catcalls from the others in the room.  Uthgerd looks so serious as she circles around and takes a swing, and I have to stop myself from laughing.  She is too slow, her swing too wide.  I wonder if she is really a bad fighter or it is only the mead that makes her like this.  It takes no effort to sidestep and knock her fist away, landing a blow of my own on the soft muscles of her underarm.  She hisses in pain and takes another swing.  I duck and tap her jaw, almost gently in a teasing way.  This only makes her more angry and her fists fly in sloppy form.  It is not long until she is panting, down on one knee with an arm thrown up over her head, and I see she is done.

“I yield.” She staggers back up and takes her seat.  “That was quite a punch.”

Everyone else goes back to their drinks and Uthgerd reluctantly hands over her gold to Ulfberth who beams and gives me a fair share.  “Told you this lass was a force to be reckoned with.”

“I see why the Companions let you in,” she nods.  “If you ever need another sword by your side, I would be honored.”

I tilt my head to the side and study her.  “I just beat you up and you now want to fight by my side?” It seems a little backwards to me, but then most of this woman seems backwards.

She only shrugs.  “You don't really know a woman until you have had a strong drink and a fistfight with her.  I can tell you are the kind of honorable lass I would enjoy fighting beside.”

The sheer ridiculousness of her statement made me start laughing uncontrollably. Once I started, I couldn't stop, tears streaming down my cheeks and I almost fell out of my chair completely.  This is what I needed, a tiny break, a moment to breathe amidst all the pain and frustration of the past few days.

“You alright there lass?” Ulfberth asks once the giggles settle down.

“Oh Gods, I needed that.” I sigh and down the rest of my drink.  Perhaps this is it.  I want to get away, I want to get out of the city and run far away from my failures.  If there is ever a time to get away with a reasonable excuse, it is now.  I had put off the trek, but I can feel the pull inside to see them soon. The Greybeards. “Uthgerd, have you ever been to High Hrothgar?”

Her brows raise, making her eyes wide.  “Never all the way, but I have seen the meditation stones.”

“Want to go all the way to the top?” I rest my chin in my hand and watch her process what I am asking.

“The only thing up there is old men.  The only reason you would go see them is if...you...were...You are the Dragonborn?!”

“You are?” Ulfberth looks me over and then nods to himself.  “That explains why you come back with weird things to sell.”

“They are not weird,” I protest.  “And I get them doing work for the Companions.  You don’t have to take them, you know.”

The rest of the evening passes in playful banter and too much mead and when we part for the evening, Uthgerd has promised to meet me by the gates early morning to join me.  Lydia nods when I tell her the plan, and she agrees to clean up around the place, bringing in what we need.  I leave her with enough gold to take care of things for a long while.

My sleep is still restless, so I wake early and slip out without disturbing Lydia.  She has packed a bag for me and I am grateful.  There are rations for a few days, a change of clothes, and things like flint and steel, and a whetstone.  I am still adjusting the buckles on my armor when I see Uthgerd wave to me.

“Morning,” she smiles. There is no sign of a hangover, despite how much she drank the previous night.  What a talent that would be, I think.

We are quiet, the morning fog not yet lifted as we walk along the familiar path.  The stable boy waves as we pass, but there is no one else up yet.  I freeze as we reach the main crossroads.

“What is the matter?” Uthgerd looks at me and I glance down the road in each direction as though I could simply discern the way.

“I have no idea how to get there,” I admit sheepishly and Uthgerd bursts out laughing.  The steel armor reverberates as she clutches her stomach, the booming hilarity not settling for a long while.

“Oh Gods!” she continues to chuckle.  “The great Dragonborn, directionally challenged.”

“I am not!” I protest with a pout.  “I just simply forgot to look up the way before we left.  You have been that way before, yes?”

Uthgerd wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me down the road.  “Aye, that I have.  Ivarstead is the easiest entrance up, unless you feel like climbing the sheer cliff face.”

“No, I will take the stairs, thank you.”

I learn a lot about Uthgerd as we meander down the roads.  She is almost 15 summers my elder, but she has never been married.  Her mother was not able to find a husband for her since she was too wild of a lass, always getting into fights.  She wanted to join with the Companions, but after her fatal mistake, she has only ever been able to acquire mercenary work.  Her words are harsh and blunt, but it is a trait I admire.

There are a couple of wolves that disrupt our camp during the night, but before I can get a decent swing in, Uthgerd’s arrows are embedded in their skulls.  I wonder if she is trying to prove herself since I beat her the evening at the Inn. Either way, we pack the skins and roast the little meat we can salvage.

It is mid morning when we reach the town.  Ivarstead is not a city by any means, but it feels similar to Riverwood in size and demeanor.  The people don’t even bother looking at us, assuming we are just more pilgrims headed up the mountain, which in a way is true I suppose.

“I just don’t know how these old bones are going to make the trek up much longer.”  I overhear a man at the bridge.  “The 7000 steps are getting longer each trek.”

“I don’t know why you bother helping those old geezers, Klimmek, but that is on your conscience I guess.”

The man I assume is Klimmek sighs heavily and hoists a large bag over his shoulder and waves the other man away.  Klimmek looks barely older than Uthgerd, but with greying hair and weary eyes.  The way his spine hunches beneath the weight of the bag he carries tells of too many years of physical labor.

“Excuse me,” I step up to him.  “Hello.”

“Hello,” he smiles, friendly lines curving around his lips and eyes.  “How can I help you?”

“We are looking for the way up the mountain to High Hrothgar.”

Klimmek nods.  “A wonderful pilgrimage.  I’m headed that way myself.”

“You go up there alone?” I wonder at his aging frame.

“Well, if I didn't have these supplies to drop off to them Greybeards, I wouldn’t bother with the trek, but no one else helps those poor men out.  Bones not what they used to be, I’m afraid, but it has to be done.”  He pats his spine with a grimace.

“We are headed all the way to High Hrothgar,” I mention.  “We could take them for you.”

His eyes light up in hope.  “You would do that?”  When I nod, he drops the bag at my feet.  “These just need to go in the chest in front of the castle.  They way is up that path there,” he points past the bridge.  “You are sure you don’t mind?”

“We don’t mind, old man,” Uthgerd huffs and lifts the sack over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, sir,” I smile and shoot Uthgerd a quick glare.  “It is on our way anyway.  How much do they owe you for all this?”

Klimmek smiles shyly.  “Oh I don’t ask anything in return.  Doesn't sit well with me to charge them monks for a few extra supplies.  Just leave ‘em in the chest and that will be it.”

“Will do.  Thank you.”  I wave to Klimmek and race after Uthgerd who is already pretty far up the steps.

I plan to count the steps on the way up, but at around 200, I grow disheartened and give up.  The path is aptly named but it begins to feel more like seven million steps. The stairs are cut into the mountain, long rising platforms covered in dirt and weeds, but still mostly visible on the path. The howl of the wolves echoes against the walls of stone we pass by, but they keep their distance from us.  

“Look there,” Uthgerd points to a small shrine off the path.  “It is one of the meditation stones.  This is why people come up here.  Each shrine has a different inscription and many take hours to ponder their words. That is the pilgrimage.”

“Did you do this?” I wonder aloud and move to look at the words.

She looks a little sheepish.  “I did.  I spent a week climbing all the way to the top stone to think about the words, only to discover that I am not really one for all that wisdom shit.  More of a doer than a thinker.  But I am glad for the experience.”

“I can see that,” I nod and huff up a few more steps.

The path winds up and up, and our conversation is cut short by the sharp gusts of wind that steal our breath.  The way cuts through the rock on the cliff and a low rumbling vibrates against the stone.  My hand flies out to stop Uthgerd and she heeds my pause.

“Do you hear that?” I whisper.

She shakes her head, but lowers the bag of supplies and pulls her broadsword out.  We creep around a stray boulder and I catch sight of the noise.  A creature, much taller than I covered in thick coarse white fur lumbers a few steps, scenting the air.

“What in the Nines is that?” I whimper.

Uthgerd snarls and the creature turns sharply our direction.  “A frost troll. Get back!”

She lifts the point of her blade up as the troll sways quickly towards us.  Uthgerd pushes me back and away and I realize that I am useless and in the way here.  Instead, I scramble around the boulder and climb up and over it.  Pulling my bow from my back, I grab at the heavier arrows in my quiver and take aim. Uthgerd is slashing at the troll’s body, but the thick fur on its body gives it protection and the cuts are not deep.  It swipes at her and she dodges.

“Gods damn you, Uthgerd,” I frown.  “Stop dancing about!”

She glances up at me for a half second and turns her body to the side, giving me a clear couple of shots.  The troll staggers and falls to a knee.  I get off one more good shot to the back of his neck before Uthgerd beheads the beast and kicks it over.  By the time I climb down from my perch on the rocks, she has gathered up a couple of my salvageable arrows and glares down at the troll in disgust.

“Anything we can use?” I clean off the shafts with snow and stuff the arrows back in my quiver.

The white fur is now covered in matted blood. “Not worth the time or effort to harvest the troll fat here.” She shakes her head, “Better to keep going, leave him to the wolves.”

I take her advice and we continue the trek. The mist and fog from the snow doesn't give way and I don't even see the looming building until we are right up on it.  The stone walls are high and dark, even in the reflection of the snow.  Windows allow light inside, but they are long and thin and give off a desolate fortress feeling.

Uthgerd puts Klimmek’s supplies in the chest at the base of the stairs before we climb up to the door.  “Ready?” she asks me.

I nod and push the door open and we step inside.  The second the door closes behind us, the howling of the wind ceases.  My ears ring at the lack of sound and I blink rapidly to adjust to the dim lighting.

We step cautiously down the hall to the open hall, and a handful of elderly men stand waiting for us.  They are dressed in simple dark robes.  Each look similar with the hoods that cover their heads and the long white beards tied neatly beneath their chins.

“Welcome,” one steps forward. “I am Master Arngeir, the one who speaks for the Greybeards. Why have you come?”

I look to Uthgerd and she nods at me, encouraging.  “I believe you summoned me. I wish to know if I am really the Dragonborn, and what that means for my fate.”

“The Dragonborn,” the man looks at me solemnly.  “You have certainly taken your time.”

My eyes narrow.  “I don’t appreciated being called like a dog.” Uthgerd puts her hand on my shoulder, a silent warning to stay calm.

“We only wish to share our knowledge, young one,” the man beckons me further into the hall.  “If you truly are the Dragonborn. Are you?”

I take a deep breath.  “Even I am not sure. But the Jarl of Whiterun seems to think so.”

“Let us observe your Shout.  If you would demonstrate…”

Glancing around, I notice that the hall is sparse.  There is nothing that I can really destroy if it works the same way it did before. I close my eyes and imagine the dragon within my blood.  Soft velvet fire, the white ice-blue flames in my bloodstream rise to the surface and I feel the pressure in my chest, my throat.

“Fus!” I Shout towards an empty space and the large pots stacked against the far wall crack and shatter from the force of the air.

The elders glance between themselves and Master Arngeir nods eagerly.  “Well done. You have the Voice. But anyone can use the Shouts with enough training.”

“Then how can you tell if I am Dragonborn or not?”

The man smiles kindly.  “How quickly you learn, and how you absorb the knowledge, that is how we know.  For a normal student, it takes years of study, patience and meditation to master a single word, like the one you demonstrated. Master Einarth will show you the next word in the Shout you demonstrated.”

Uthgerd strips my bag and weapons from me and settles on the far stairs as Master Einarth whispers towards the floor, “Ro!”  An inscription appears in the stone, a familiar series of lines and dots.  As I step up towards it, the drumming and chanting starts low and soft.  It is more gentle than I am used to, but the brief wave of dizziness is still there.

“Balance,” I murmur and Master Einarth looks up at me sharply, a grin splayed on his lips.

Master Arngeir studies me quietly for a moment.  “You really are the Dragonborn.  To be able to read, to understand the word so quickly, no other student has done this.”

“Is that bad?” I look between them.

He chuckles.  “No child.  You are the youngest I have ever heard of, but the Dovah is strong in you.  We will teach you what we know.”

They pay no mind to Uthgerd, who happily dozes in her corner.  I, however, am set on a pillow in the main hall and Master Arngeir begins to recount the history of the dragons.

“In the time when dragons ruled the world, the Goddess Kyne took pity on Man and gave him the ability to speak as dragons do, to use the Voice, the Thu’um.  There were those special among the mortal kind that the God Akatosh took favor upon and gifted them with the dragon blood and the ability to absorb the soul of a slain dragon, taking in the knowledge and wisdom of that dragon.  This allowed the Dragonborn to learn the Thu’um without years of practice and meditation.”

I frown.  “When I battled the dragon at Whiterun, after it had been killed, all this rushing feeling came and it felt like I was overflowing. I blacked out for a little while.”

“That was your body adjusting to the soul of another dragon.  You were made to absorb those souls, along with their knowledge.  It is a rare gift that comes to the chosen ones.  Only one or so every era is blessed by the gods this way.  There is no telling who will have the gift, sometimes more than one, sometimes there are none at all.  Akatosh does not bestow the gift based on race or gender.  He choses those worthy in heart.”

I deflate under his words.  “That doesn’t seem to fit me at all.  I am not worthy.”

To my surprise, the elders chuckle softly.  “The worthy never feel that they are, and those who would jump at the chance are not deserving.  I am certain you will find your way.”

“What do I do now?”

“For now, let us teach you a few words and see how you handle it.  Master Einarth will gift you the knowledge of Ro directly.”

The elder and I stand face to face and he smiles gently at me.  He whispers the word so softly and the same golden tendrils flow from him into me.  A familiar rushing sensation fills my body, but it is less intense than before and I manage to keep my feet.  When I am instructed, I sit back down.

“There is no need to holler, you may whisper the words and get a gentler reaction.  Try to string both words Fus and Ro together,” Master Arngeir instructs.

I hunt for the dragon inside and keep my voice as soft as I can.  “Fus Ro…” The robes of the elder across from me whip around and he beams at me.  I try once more and they nod.

“Well done,” Master Arngeir grins.  “It is amazing to see you pick this up so quickly.”

“What can you tell me about the words?” I ask when we gather for a meal a little later.  Uthgerd and I were given a private hallway with two cots.  After relaxing for a little while, cleaning up and settling in, we joined the elders for a simple meal.

“The Words of Power come from the language of dragons directly.  By speaking the true name of things, we are able to control them, guide and manipulate them to our use.  Essentially, a fight among the Dovah is no more than a violent debate.”

“So each word carries a power in itself, and the souls of the dragons help give me power and understanding for each of the words I learn?”

The men smile.  “Very good.  Your inborn gift makes all this easier on your own soul and as you adjust to the deeper wells of power within, you will find that you adapt more quickly to new Words of Power.”

“Well, I think it is freakish,” Uthgerd interjects with a teasing smile at me.

“Don’t be jealous, Uthgerd,” I roll my eyes.  “You are special to me.”

We spend days in High Hrothgar.  Uthgerd works through her training forms in the courtyard outside with a close eye on me, but never intervenes in my training. I read from the texts available and spend time one on one with each of the masters.  Master Arngeir is the only one who ever speaks to me, but I learn to read the expressions and body language of the other elders quick enough.

Even more than learning the Words of Power, the elders teach me other life truths.  The weight of Skjor’s death lessens with each day and I understand more about the balance between power and responsibility.  Life and death is only my responsibility in reaction to my choices.  The elders look on in understanding as I lay my burdens before them.  Master Arngeir’s patient ear becomes a blessing and I begin to look at him in the same way I see Kodlak, dependable and honest.

I crash onto my cot, face down with a groan after a long day of Voice training.  Uthgerd looks up from her book and glances over me.  

“How are you feeling?” Her voice is gentle and quiet, a change made from the long days in the echoing halls.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be tired, I am not fighting or anything.  But I am exhausted.  My whole body aches as though I let the twins at me with clubs.”

She moves to sit on my cot and tugs at my clothes, inspecting the muscles on my back.  “You look a little bruised. Take your shirt off, I have a cream to help.”

I strip my tunic off and lay more comfortably on my chest.  Her hands are warm as her fingers dig into the muscles along my spine.  The cream smells like spicy herbs and sweet mountain flowers, soothing.

“What is this marking on your shoulder?” she wonders aloud.

“I am not sure. I have never gotten a good look at it to read the word.  Perhaps one of the masters know.”

“You should ask.  It is beautiful,” her fingers trail over the marks and I smile sleepily.

I don’t think to ask about it until a few days later.  Uthgerd and I have been talking about leaving soon as we have already stayed for over two weeks.  When I bring up my thoughts to Master Arngeir, he nods sadly.

“We have loved having your young fiery spirit here, Amora.  But you are correct, it is time for you to part ways.  There is one more task before we can name you as Dragonborn, a trial if you will.”

I raise my brow at him.  “Why does this not sound like a fun adventure?”

He laughs.  “You must retrieve the Horn of Jorgen Windcaller, deep within his tomb.  You will need to use the Shouts you have learned here with us to succeed, and once you return, we shall recognize you officially.  Then the world will know that you are Dragonborn.”

“May I travel with her?” Uthgerd speaks up.

“Of course,” he bows slightly in her direction and the relief fills me. “Your are a friend of the Dovahkiin, you are always welcome by her side.”

“Dovahkiin?” Uthgerd looks at me, and then back at Master Arngeir.

“The Dovah word for Dragonborn.”

“Is that what is written on your shoulder, Amora?”

I loosen the ribbon on my tunic and let the shoulder fall loose.  The elders politely look away until I turn and show the inscription in dark ink.  Master Borri is the one who leans in to take a closer look and then tugs on my clothing to pull it back up.

“Dovahkiin,” he whispers and the words vibrates in my chest.  I know this word.  I feel it, feel the way the energy shifts in my body around the sounds.

“Someone knew very early what you were.  Your mother?”

“My father.  I was marked when I turned twelve.  He never said what it was, and few have seen it since then.”

“For the best.  You have changed, and others around you will see the power you have.  Some will seek to use you.  Others will wish to destroy you. I do not mean to say that you must hide who you are. I only caution you to be wise in who you trust.  Lady Uthgerd, I hope you will stay by her side as a friend and a protector.  I sense she will need you.”

“It is my honor,” Uthgerd smiles at me.  “Facing dragons or men or collecting some dead man’s horn, it is my honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I played this part through for the first time, I got lost trying to find my way to Ivarstead and the 7000 steps. I did actually try to climb up the cliff which, of course, did not work. Thus the joke about it. ^^


	8. The Empty Tomb

“Do you think it is easier to go down the mountain than up it?” I ask Uthgerd as we stroll past the remains of the troll. The wolves had scavenged the creature down to the bones and the snow had turned brown around it.

“Considering I am not carrying supplies up a mountain during a blizzard, I would say yes. Going down is easier.”

I snort in laughter and the trip down is pleasant. Klimmek is easy to find once we reach Ivarstead and he is surprised to see the both of us alive. We spend a few minutes chatting pleasantly before gathering supplies. Just outside the main trader, three people in masks stop us.

Uthgerd is immediately on guard, her hand on her sword and her free hand clutching my arm protectively. “Step aside.”

“Are you the one calling yourself Dragonborn?” The voice is thickly accented and gravelly. It is impossible to see who the question was directed towards, the strange masks cover their entire face. The robes they wear are dark brown with gold, and heavy looking, and foreign.

“No one is calling themselves anything,” Uthgerd says with a low growl. “Now back off!”

“Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver,” another responds, and then points at me. “We know she is the false Dragonborn.”

I grip my own sword tighter and I can feel Uthgerd’s fingers flex on my arm. “What do you want?”

“You shall not stand in the way of the true Dragonborn’s return. He comes soon and we shall offer him your heart.” They sneer at us as a few of the villagers gather around.

The third speaks up to address the crowd, “When Lord Miraak appears, all shall bear witness. None shall stand to oppose him!”

Uthgerd draws her sword quickly and swings at the closest body. The second cultist pulls a dagger with one hand and extends the other, flames erupting from their fingertips. Without thinking, I step in front of Uthgerd and draw my blade. The fire licks up my arms and my chest, but I am not deterred. I drop my blade low and catch the person in the legs. It is more than enough to send them to the ground and I pierce their chest. Suddenly, I am shoved to the side and sprawling in the dirt.

I roll onto my back and lift my sword, but the two other cultists have already been taken care of by Uthgerd and the townspeople. My companion rushes over and pushes me back to the ground, her hands fumbling with the buckles on my armor.

“Hold still,” Uthgerd’s voice is tense, hinging on panicked. “Someone get me some water!”

People are rushing about, but I don’t understand the hurry. “Uthgerd, are you okay?”

I look her over, but aside from a few small cuts and smears of blood, she looks fine. She manages to rip my armor off and her fingers smooth over my skin. Someone runs up with a bucket of cool water and she pours it over my chest and arms. I wince, the chill a little more than I was expecting.

“How is this...How are you not burned so badly?” she demands, pouring more cold water over my front. “I watched you stand in the way of the fire spells and you are not charred. How is this possible?”

I sit up and hold her hands away from their frantic observation. My tunic is sticking to my skin now and I glance at the hide armor that was stripped off of me. The skin is blackened, melted in some places, pieces cracking off. Looking at my body, the flesh is only a light pink, but that could have just as much to do with the icy water than any of the burns.

“Dragon blood, perhaps?” I shrug and Uthgerd sits back with a huff and a disbelieving laugh. “Maybe I have a higher tolerance to fire than you mere mortals.”

She snorts and shakes her head. “You are damn lucky, that is what it is.” Holding out a hand, she helps me to stand and the people around us are whispering to themselves. “You are going to need new armor before we set out on this trek. Let me see what I can find.”

“I will search the bodies. This was too unexpected a surprise.”

Uthgerd nods and wanders off and I approach one of the lifeless corpses. The mask is bone and weighs less than I had originally thought. The face beneath it is Elvish, greyed smooth skin and fairly young. There is little in her pockets aside from a handful of coins and a vial of potion. The second body is similar, an older Elvish man. On the third body, however, I find a scrap of paper, instructions scribbled quickly in dark ink.

_“Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Amora before she reaches Solstheim. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.”_

Windhelm is too far away to head to now, but I pocket the note and mull over the words. Uthgerd returns with a nice set of leather armor for me and we start on our path. Managing to find a carriage to Morthal, we trade supplies and secure passage. The air gets noticeably colder and once we hit the marshes north of the city, Uthgerd picks up a constant stream of complaining. Not that I blame her, the trip is miserable.

“I am never going to dry off,” she mutters as we huddle close to a fire near the ruins of Ustengrav. “I have swamp ass and will die from skin rot.”

I chuckle and shake my head. Honestly, I don't feel much better, the murky water still making my boots soggy. “We will be out of the weather in the morning and you can find something new to complain abou-”

A bone-rattling roar shakes the trees and stones around us and Uthgerd and I are immediately on our feet with weapons drawn.

“What was that?” she looks around frantically.

I know this sound. I have heard it twice before and I know with every fiber of my being what makes the air tremble like this. “Dragon.”

Uthgerd makes a sort of irritated whining noise, and stares at me for a moment. “A real dragon.” It is not a question, more of a resignation, and I nod.

We pull our weapons up, her broadsword glinting in the firelight and I tighten the string of my bow. The dragon circles above us once before dropping down to swoop low over our tiny camp. I can make out the grey-silver glint of its scales. It is not the black behemoth of Helgen and I am grateful. Taking careful aim, I shoot for the softer parts of the granite scales. The eyes, nose, roof of the mouth, along with the underside of the throat are all more vulnerable places and I inform Uthgerd of this.

“Oh good,” she rolls her eyes. “Right where all the sharp pointy teeth are.”

“Slash at the wings when he gets low, we need to force him to land.”

She cries out loudly, taunting the dragon, and when he grazes the marshes with his claws, she swings out, clipping the softer flesh of the wing. I loose my arrows to keep it distracted from snapping at her, and a few other shouts join us.

“Where did it come from?” A man in chainmail and a blue tunic runs up with his sword and shield. He places himself at Uthgerd’s back in a defensive position. More soldiers dressed similar rush up.

“Came from the shadows,” another man answers. “Here he comes!”

The dragon has other plans and lets out a scream of fire, forcing the soldiers to dive out of the way. I doubt my arrow can withstand the heat of the flames, but I shoot towards the opened mouth anyway. After a few more passes, the beast’s wings are too tattered to hold it up anymore and it comes crashing into a lightly snowed bank. The soldiers rush forward and begin hacking away at the steel scales. Teeth like long daggers snap at the closest men and blood soaks the ground. It is no deterrent for the men and by the time Uthgerd and I are close enough, the dragon is heaving.

“Dovahkiin,” I hear it rumble to me. My steps are cautious as I approach and the others around me brace themselves, shields up. “We have waited long for your return.” There is malice in the words and I grip my sword tighter. Heat spills in invisible waves from his mouth as he speaks. “You will never fulfill the prophecy.”

Seeing my opening, I drive the point of my sword forward and into the throat between the scales. The others follow my lead and with a great shudder, the dragon falls silent. The men cheer, but I pull my weapon free and stagger backwards. Uthgerd is at my side, holding me up.

“Is it happening?” she asks quietly.

“Not yet,” I shake my head and push her away as soon as the crackling starts.

The cheers cease and everyone backs up a few steps. The scales turn to ash and the flesh burns away in rolling flames. Then I feel it, the rushing, tendrils of golden light disappearing into my body. I want to scream to release some of the pressure. This is more intense than before, but I recognize it now. Feeling the feral nature of the dragon within, the knowledge clawing at my brain, I can understand what is happening. With the Greybeards, it was a gentle sensation like a small brook. This...this is roaring rapids pulling me under with no chance at a breath of air. My body is being jostled. Whatever hazy light clouds my eyes begins to clear and the more I blink, the easier it becomes to see Uthgerd hovering over me.

“Amora! I need you to take a deep breath in. Back up lads, give her some space! Alright, love, breathe in, come on now. Blue is not your color.” Her hand is rubbing my chest hard and I figure out how to inhale. It is more of a gasping, fish out of water sort of thing, but she looks relieved. “There you go. Gods, child, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m good, I’m alright.”

“Different seeing it from a dragon than from those old geezers,” she points out and helps me stand. My legs are like a newborn deer and I clutch tight to Uthgerd’s arm.

“Feels different too,” I laugh dryly. “I need rest.”

One of the soldiers approaches and Uthgerd tenses up. “We have a camp just up the hill. It is safe for the night,” he offers. “We can spare a meal and a few bedrolls.”

“Not sure that a Stormcloak camp is any safer than out here,” Uthgerd regards them warily.

“Wait,” I step forward. “Stormcloaks? Like, Ulfric Stormcloak?”

The man puffs his chest proudly. “We fight in his name.”

I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. “It would be nice to have a warm fire and a good meal, Gerd.” I turn to the others and we begin walking slowly up the hill. “Do you know a man named Ralof of Riverwood?”

Uthgerd interrupts, “Amora, you are a Stormcloak?”

“What? No. Do I look like a Stormcloak to you? Don’t be ridiculous. When I was at Helgen, I was carted in with them and Ulfric.”

“Wait,” one of the soldiers runs up, female by the chestplate. “You are the Jarl’s Amora?”

I frown a little. “Not that I belong to anyone…”

“He spoke of you. Said that there was a girl named Amora who saved him and Captain Ralof at Helgen. Said you were special.”

“You know Ralof?” I look at the female hopefully.

She smiles and pulls her helmet off, brushing her hair back. “I do. I fought with him many times.”

“Have you heard from him recently?” There is a strange ache in my chest.

She shakes her head. “Not since he left Windhelm a month or two ago. Last I heard he was being sent to Riften.” At least he is alive, I think.

The soldiers are kind and share their rations. Uthgerd seems on guard, but the warmth of the fire keeps her calm and she remains pressed to my side. As always, my rest is disturbed by dreams of dragons and wolves and fire, and by dawn, I am ready to be moving again. We say farewell to the camp and head back down the hill to Ustengrav.

The ruins are circular, typical Nordic fashion. However, the couple of dead bandits out front are an ominous sign. Blood is spattered on the walls and their faces are frozen in terror. It is unfortunate that we need this horn or I would walk away from this.

“Nice of the Greybeards to let us know what we were actually getting ourselves into,” Uthgerd growls and looks over the bodies.

“You don't have to stay,” I point out as kindly as I can. “It is my trial, not your responsibility.”

She looks up at me for a few moments. “I know. But I said I would. And I am not the kind of woman to let you go in there alone now after saying I would join you.”

“But if you ever wish to turn back…” I leave the offer open. She doesn't say anything in response, but I think she appreciates the out. “You ready?”

We take a few minutes to adjust our packs so they make as little noise as possible and push the doors open. There are more bodies, bandits by the look of them, resting just inside the door.

“See the scorch marks here?” Uthgerd points to blackened stones along the wall. “Mages. They might still be here.”

To my surprise, Uthgerd is very knowledgable about the plants and mushrooms that grow in the dank halls. Every time we need to pause, she explains their use and we collect a few to trade later. As we round a corner, the faint echo of shouting fills the air. Quietly as we can, we creep forward and peer down the hall. Up ahead are the handful of mages we assumed were still here. Bursts of fire and bolts of ice fly down the corridor towards the guardians of the dead, the draugr. I make a move to help, but Uthgerd pulls me back.

She leans in to whisper right in my ear. “Leave them be. Let them fight it out themselves and we can take the winner. Either way, neither are friendly to us.”

I nod in understanding and we wait for the pained cries to die down. By the end of the skirmish, there is only one draugr left and it only takes a single arrow to put it down. The halls grow silent except for our footsteps and the occasional dripping of stale moisture. We take the time to explore the rooms and it turns out the dead guard plenty of gold and trinkets. Leaving the things that look like family heirlooms makes me feel less like I am grave robbing, but I do not hesitate to pocket the coins and rare gems we find.

The further down we travel, the colder the air feels, and yet, it smells cleaner, wetter. More moss grows on the walls and the draugr are faster. Thankfully they are spread out down the halls and it takes little effort to take them down. One sloping path later and there is a gigantic cavern before us. Stone bridges crisscross around and trees grow tall. There is a large waterfall roaring below us and the mist makes the way slippery. We explore the rooms and I can hear the vague chanting in my head.

“Uthgerd?” I call out to her. “I feel something here.”

“Feel what?” She is looking around for danger.

I smile a little. “A Word of Power.”

She stays close beside me as we follow the dirt pathway down to the stone wall as the drumming gets louder in my ears. Despite my tripping feet, I stay upright. Placing my hands on the stone, I let the word fill me. I am no longer afraid, this is nothing like absorbing a dragon’s soul. No, the voices, the chanting rattle around in my head for a moment, firm but gentle.

“Breathe through it, like the Masters taught you,” I can hear Uthgerd talk me through it in a far away voice. “Remember, let it in and let it settle.”

Breathing deep, I relax as much as I can and wait for everything to calm. The music dies down and the word becomes apparent. “Fade,” I whisper. I am still standing when I open my eyes to see Uthgerd grinning proudly.

“Nicely done. Ready?”

I nod and we climb the slick path back up. The word of power is a bonus to this trip and I wonder if the Greybeards knew it was here. But the prize we need is further on. We reach a platform and our way is blocked.

“I don't understand,” Uthgerd looks through the closed gate. Behind the bars are more gates and swinging axes. “The path continues ahead, but there is no lever for the gate.”

“Come look at this.” Three boulders jut out of the ground, no taller than I am. There is a carving, the same on each one. “What does that look like to you?”

As she passes in front of the stone, it lights a soft red. “Woah. It looks like a dragon, see the wings here?” She walks in front of another and we hear the sound of the gate.

“Walk in front of the pillars and I will watch the gates. Perhaps there is a pattern,” I suggest.

Watching carefully, she calls out the pillar number and I watch as the gates open and close.

“They move too quickly,” I report to her. “I think this is what Master Arngeir was talking about. I have a Shout that will allow me to move more quickly through the gates.”

“There is probably a lever on the other side. You can do it?” She is nodding at the swinging axes.

“A little late to say no,” I chuckle.

I leave my pack with her and carry only my weapon, just in case. I am lighter this way and can move faster. After all the training I did with the Greybeards, it is easier to find the dragon blood.

“Wuld!” I Shout and feel the rush of adrenaline through my veins. Bolting forward, I dart between the small pillars, lighting each one and watching the gates lift, but just as I reach the first one, it slams shut again and I run straight into the grate. “Damn it!”

Uthgerd winces as I walk back, but says nothing about the red welts on my hands and arms. “Try again. Concentrate.”

I shuffle a little closer to the first pillar and position myself once again. There is still a little fire in my blood and I Shout once again. “Wuld!” I hit the first gate before it shuts, but I can see I won’t make it through without another burst. “Wuld!” My body is flung past the other gates and I slip and land hard on the stairs.

“Amora!” Uthgerd is pressed against the first gate. “You alright?”

“Good!” I call back to her. “Let me find the lever.”

I brush off my scraped knees and elbows and spot the chains hanging from the wall. The gates release and slide up and she trots to my side.

“You did good, kid.” I don’t think I will ever get enough of her proud smile. I take my pack and shake out my limbs, letting the rush fade away. “Now, what have we here?”

This hall is strange with webbing covering the walls is shiny strands. We both pull our weapons free again.

“Do you remember Farkas, one of the twins at Jorrvaskr?” I ask softly.

“The buff one?” Uthgerd is watching our surrounds carefully.

“Well, they are both buff, but he is...the less smart of the two.” We move slower up the stairs, every muscles taught.

“I remember him. Why?”

I smile as I hear the tell-tale clicking of fangs and spindly legs. “He is terrified of spiders.”

It manages to get a chuckle out of my companion as we reach the top of the stairs and see a couple of large frostbite spiders. My skin crawls as my sword pushes through the crunchy armor and venom oozes out. Uthgerd kicks hers away and it lands hard on the stone floor. A loud clack echoes and suddenly, flames burst from the ground. We both go scrambling backwards away from the fire with a shout.

“Ysmir’s beard!” Uthgerd curses. “Flame traps. When we see those old geezers, I am cutting their beards off! This is insane.”

The entire floor is covered in triggered plates. I step on the corner of one and count to two before the fire spits up.

“If we run fast enough, we can make it through.”

She looks at me skeptically. “You are joking. Fast as in, you need a Shout to do this?”

“No, look. It takes a couple of seconds to trigger the trap. That is enough time to run across. See, there are spaces where there are no pressure plates. All we have to do is run from one safe area to the next. Come on, we can do this.”

She does not look reassured, but I am willing to give it a try. I sprint across the plates to where a part of the wall has fallen down. The heat of the flames follows me across but I never get burned. Jumping to the safe area, I wait for the flames to cease and then beckon Uthgerd across.

“Ooh, we are going to die,” she growls before launching herself over the traps. I can see the sweat drip down her neck as I pull her up to safety. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“There is the next platform. I will go first.”

We traverse down the hallway, one after the other, from one safe spot to the next. It takes longer than either of us want, but it is better than getting crispy. We reach an open hall and stop to eat and rest, before going the rest of the way. The path ends with another gate and it grinds loudly as it reveals our destination. The ground rumbles and statues rise up from the floor on either side of us and I grip Uthgerd’s free hand tightly, expecting something to come jumping out at us. Nothing appears.

“Well, this is something you don’t see everyday,” she murmurs.

The tomb rests on the far side of the room but as we get closer, I notice something strange. There is no horn. There is a hand, a place where the horn should rest. But instead of our prize, there is a letter. Rage and frustration fills me as I snatch the offending parchment and open it.

I read aloud, “Dragonborn, I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you. Signed, a friend.” Uthgerd takes the letter as I aim a hard kick at the stairs.

“Some friend,” she growls.

“Well I am glad this was a GIANT WASTE OF TIME FOR EVERYBODY!!” I snarl at the empty tomb. “Riverwood, Uthgerd. We are going to Riverwood and by the Nine, whoever this ‘friend’ is, they had better have a damn good reason for trying to get us killed for nothing or I will wear their face as a hat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so pissed off when I finished going through the tomb and all I got was that effing letter. There was a lot of cursing and grumbling. Also, Uthgerd has become my favorite follower so far. ^^


End file.
